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THE BOY SCOUTS 
AT CAMP LOWELL 


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Stories by 


Brewer Corcoran 


The Princess Naida 

$1.90 

The Road to Le Reve 

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THE BOY SCOUT SERIES 


The Boy Scouts of Kendallville 

1.75 

The Boy Scouts of the Wolf 


Patrol 

1.75 

The Boy Scouts at Camp Lowell 

1.75 

Hi 


Will Bradford’s School Days, or 

The Barbarian 

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The Page Company 


53 Beacon Street Boston, Mass. 


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SLOWLY HE BEGAN TO TURN FROM THE DIRECTION IN 
WHICH NED HAD FACED HIM ” 

( See page 90) 


The Boy Scouts 
At Camp Lowell 


By 

BREWER CORCORAN 

*) 

Author of 

‘The Boy Scouts of Kendallville,” “The Boy 
Scouts of The Wolf Patrol,” “The Bar- 
barian,” “The Princess Naida,” 

“ The Road to Le Reve,” etc. 


Illustrated by 

CHARLES LIVINGSTON BULL 



Published with the approval of 
“THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA’ 


THE PAGE COMPANY 

BOSTON ffi MDCCCCXXII 




Copyright, 1922, 

By The Page Company 


All rights reserved 


Made in U. S. A. 


* 

First Impression, September, 1922 



PRINTED BY C. H. SIMONDS COMPANY 
BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A. 


OCT -6 '22 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I The Mark of the Wolf i 

II A Job for a Cub 26 

III Hanson Holds the Road 44 

IV Hec Becomes Popular 64 

V Mr. Steve Takes a Hand 85 

VI Dick Hunt Strikes Out 108 

VII Harve to the Rescue 140 

VIII The Absent Scout 160 

IX The Trail of the Fire Bug 182 

X Unexpected Confidence 200 

XI An Attack from Behind 215 

XII What Mr. Steve Saw 236 

XIII Nelse Captures a Shadow 250 

XIV The Trail in the Grass 270 

XV An Unexpected Gift 291 














LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

“ Slowly he began to turn from the direc- 
tion in which Ned had faced him ” ( See 
page 90) Frontispiece 

“ Hanson squawked, raged, vowed all sorts 

OF VENGEANCE ” 59 

“ But Hec plunged on ” 76 

“ He crashed into Harve’s legs ” 132 

“ The Wolves vaulted the last fence and 

WHIRLED INTO THE FARMYARD ” . *153 

“ On the roof, Jim Donovan and Harve were 

WORKING LIKE MADMEN ” 28 2 



THE BOY SCOUTS AT 
CAMP LOWELL 


CHAPTER I 

THE MARK OF THE WOLF 

“Why shouldn’t I eat?” retorted Harve Foster 
without the hoped-for show of heat. “My mother 
and my father like me, and the more I consume, the 
more there is of me. My life is spent in doing 
kindnesses for others.” 

“You bet!” chuckled Nelse Pease. “You’ve cher- 
ished so many tender thoughts for the corner grocer 
that he’s building an addition. Wonder you haven’t 
tried to swallow old Hec.” 

Foster rolled over on one side and tossed a 
bit of his doughnut to the cock-eared pup. “Um !” 
he speculated. “No, it’s most dinner time and it 
might take the edge off my appetite. Is any one 


l 


2 THE BOY SCOUTS 

but me grieving because school’s over to-morrow?” 

'‘Guess I’m shedding the same sort of tears, Fat,” 
confessed Stan Wood, snuggling his spine more 
comfortably into the Lowells’ lawn. “Anyway, 
none of us have got to make up anything this sum- 
mer.” He smiled luxuriously as he recalled what 
he had had to do the previous year. 

“Fine crowd we’d be if we’d flunked anything,” 
snorted Ned Field. 

“Betcher!” rumbled Harve. 

“Thought solid geometry was going to get me 
for a while,” sighed Joe Lowell. “Then I re- 
membered Fat’s head and worked propositions on 
that. Mr. Steve said it was a great idea.” 

Foster grunted. “If he said so, I won’t beat you 
up,” he agreed. “Say, so long’s we’ve all passed 
everything, don’t you suppose we could get him to 
spend part of his vacation with us up at the camp?” 

“Wish we could.” 

“Gee! But that would be the real thing.” 

“Nothin’ doin’!” declared Joe, sitting up, his face 
sober. “The Mayhews have done enough for the 


AT CAMP LOWELL 3 

Wolf Patrol without our asking any reward for 
doing what the Old Boss only suggested would 
be a fine thing. Every one of us was mighty 
glad to study hard because he hinted he’d like us 
to.” 

“You bet!” 

“Can’t do enough for the old king!” 

“Or Mr. Steve, either.” 

“Then why suggest Mr. Steve waste his first 
vacation in three years on us?” snapped Joe im- 
patiently. 

“ ’Cause we all want him, I suppose,” confessed 
Harve. “Don’t get all het up about it, Joey.” 

“I’m not. I’d like him up there with us just 
as much as the rest of you would. But I know he’s 
been planning to go to the seashore, and no Wolf 
is going to breathe we want him to do anything 
else. It would be just like him to give up his 
own fun for ours.” 

“I was just dreamin’ pleasant dreams,” expostu- 
lated Foster. “What’s bitten you, anyway? For 
two days you’ve acted like you’d been underfed. 


4 THE BOY SCOUTS 

Why don’t you go eat some grass like Hec does 
when he gets a peeve?” 

Joe frowned. There was a note in Harvey’s 
voice which made him uncomfortable, and he would 
have done almost anything before he would have 
hurt Harve. Not only were they both Wolves, but 
they had been through much together. “You eat 
the hole in that doughnut and choke to death, Fat,” 
he ordered. “I’ve as much peeve as you’ve sense, 
and that’s none at all.” 

“Apology’s accepted,” agreed Harve promptly. 
“If I’d had any sense I’d have gone home to dinner 
half an hour ago. Any of you seen Dick Hunt 
lately ?” 

There was an unconscious stiffening in the at- 
titude of the whole Patrol. It was evident that 
Harvey Foster had broached a subject in which 
there was no ground for banter. “Yes,” acknowl- 
edged Joe, “I have.” 

“What’d he say?” It was the first time little 
Tug Wilson had spoken but the matter meant; so 
much to him he could no longer keep still. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


5 


“ ’Bout the same old line of talk,” confessed Joe. 
“Says he isn’t going to queer us by hanging him- 
self around our necks.” 

“He gives me the pip,” exploded Nelse. “Any- 
body’d think we didn’t know what we were doing.” 

“Guess I can see Hunt’s side,” Joe said slowly. 
“The whole town knew how deep he was mixed in 
that Stone affair and he knows that everybody 
knows. It was all Mr. Nelson could do to make 
him believe the bank was more than willing to give 
him another chance. He wanted to get out of Gill- 
field. It took the Old Boss himself to make Hunt 
realize his only chance was to stay here and live 
the thing down. Hunt can’t see it would be a heap 
easier for him if he made some friends instead of 
trying to make the fight alone. I’ve talked to him 
till my throat ached, told him we wanted him 
to join the Wolves, told him not one of us had 
a thing against him now, but all he’ll say is 
‘Wait.’ ’> 

“We’ve existed five years without him,” growled 
Alex Cotton. 


6 THE BOY SCOUTS 

“But we voted to take him into the Patrol a 


year ago,” argued Joe. 

“There’re about twenty good guys in Gillfield 
who’re crazy to be Wolves,” grunted Alex. “Why 
force the one gink who doesn’t want to?” 

“Because the Wolf Patrol went on record as 
ready to help Dick Hunt,” stated the leader, “and 
it’s never quit anything it started.” 

“There’s something in that,” Alex admitted. 

“It’s one lovely mess!” declared Nelse. “The 
idea of the Wolf Patrol having to beg a fish to be- 
come a member!” 

“I dunno but I can see it a little from Hunt’s 
point of view,” Joe said slowly. “He sure knows 
what it is to be in dutch and he’s decent enough not 
to want the same thing to happen to any one else.” 

“Swell chance for any of us ever to get 
mixed up with the sort of birds he did,” grunted 
Stan. 

“Couldn’t if we wanted to,” added Fat. “War’s 
over and all the Hun spies are busy eating soap and 
other fattening foods.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 7 

“I'll bet you’d be a spy if any one’d feed you 
soap,” declared Field. 

“No, no! It’s slippery and untasty. Ever try 
it any sort of way?” 

Field laughed. “Once,” he admitted. “It makes 
your hands look awfully queer, Fatness. You’d 
never believe it unless you experiment. . . . Hello, 
what’s gnawed Hec in the ambition?” 

Tug was on his feet instantly. Ever since that 
day when Hec had saved his life, he moved when his 
dog did. That was one reason he was so thin. 
The next second both boy and pup gave tongue and 
raced toward the street. Mayhew cat again?” 
queried Fat languidly. 

Before any could answer there came a deep- 
throated hail from beyond the white picket fence. 
At the sound of that voice the Wolves came to life. 
Even Harve Foster was running before he was 
upright. Stephen Mayhew did not utter that call 
unless he wanted the Patrol on the jump. 

But, as they went over the fence, they saw who 
was with him, and unconsciously their speed slack- 


8 THE BOY SCOUTS 

ened. Dick Hunt, sensitive beyond belief, noted 
the check and the color left the thin face. But 
Mr. Steve kept a firm grip on the slender arm, and 
the next instant the pack had surrounded them. 

“Hello, fellows !” the man exclaimed, his smile 
showing how glad he was to see them all. “Got 
some real news for you.” 

“Let’s have it, sir.” 

“That’s what I called you for,” he laughed. 
“Stopped at the bank on my way to luncheon and 
caught Mr. Nelson in the act of telling this chap 
here how pleased they were with him and his work, 
and that they were going to prove it by promoting 
him.” 

“Whew!” 

Joe Lowell held out his hand. “That’s fine, 
Dick!” he said heartily. “Every one of us is 
tickled to death that you’ve gotten what you deserve.” 

Hunt’s face twitched. He had been afraid of 
something like this when Mr. Steve captured him 
and carried him off. Only now the friendly hand- 
shakes and slaps on the back were not half so bad as 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


9 


he had feared. In fact, there was something de- 
cidedly pleasant about it all. “Thanks/’ he managed 
to say. 

Stephen Mayhew realized that the time to make 
a dent in iron is when it is hot. And he had been 
watching this iron heat for some time. “Dick 
has earned it/’ he stated, “but it’s really all in the 
day’s work. What appeals to me most about the 
whole affair is the possibility of getting a regular 
banker into the Patrol so’s he can act as treasurer.” 

“Say!” burst out Nelse Pease. “That’s the best 
little idea ever hatched. I’ve got my accounts in 
such lovely shape it’d take two whole treasurers 
six weeks to find out why I’ve got more cash in 
the bank than on my book. I resign.” 

“ ’S long’s there’s more cash than figures, seems 
wise to accept Nelse’s great personal sacrifice in 
time,” laughed Mr. Steve. “Do you accept the 
job, Dick?” 

“But I’m not a Wolf, sir.” 

Joe Lowell, who had led the Patrol for five years 
under Stephen Mayhew’s guidance, was too well 


10 THE BOY SCOUTS 

versed in his methods not to play up now. “What 
time does the bank close, Dick?” he asked. 

“I get out at four.’ , 

“Meet us here at four-thirty and that Wolf matter 
will be fixed up pronto. We’ve got to have a 
Patrol meeting this afternoon to finish our plans 
for camp, and you’ll be keeping books at five-thirty 
and wishing Nelse knew how to make real figures.” 

“What do you say, Dick?” It was Mr. Steve 
who asked. 

The boy drew a long breath. Yesterday his an- 
swer would have been prompt. But to-day the man 
who had discovered his former troubles had proved 
them forgotten and forgiven by promoting him to 
a position of real trust. It had been the actual 
sign Dick had been waiting for. He had been so 
broken that, for a year, he had refused to allow 
himself to believe mere words. He now felt sure 
he had made good at his work ; could he trust him- 
self to make good with these boys who had played 
such an important part in exposing his error? He 
looked fearfully from one to another. He saw noth- 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


11 


in g but the friendliest sort of grins. Something 
told him that they were as ready to accept him as 
,Mr. Nelson had been to trust him, but again he ex- 
perienced that same old fear of being unable to make 
good. 

It was then that Hec thrust his cold muzzle into 
the cold hand. There was something so friendly 
and trustful about the act that Dick’s courage rallied. 
“I’d like to join the Wolves,” he faltered. ‘Til 
try to play the game and be a good Scout.” 

“Yea!” Joe’s voice rang high above the chorus. 
The anxious expression was gone from his face and 
his eyes danced. Mr. Steve had said everything 
would come out right if they would only have pa- 
tience. It had been a big “if” but, once again, the 
Scout Master’s wisdom was proved. The bright 
day seemed brighter, the sun appeared to shine more 
gloriously, Hec’s tail had never wagged so tri- 
umphantly. “Now I’ll go eat,” declared Harve 
Foster. 

There was a howl of laughter, but Fat merely 
grinned. He had quite as much sense as appetite 


12 THE BOY SCOUTS 

and his characteristic declaration had done the 
very thing he intended — prevented what would have 
become a trying moment for Dick Hunt as well 
as for the Wolf Patrol. And Dick, having at last 
found the courage to take the step they had all 
tried so long to make him take, was to be given 
no opportunity to reconsider it during a moment of 
embarrassment. At least that is the way Harve 
should have reasoned it out. What did flash 
through his mind was “Say, that gink’s rattled an’ 
I’ll beat it before it gets catching.” 

The majority were only too willing to follow his 
lead and leave the details to Joe. Tug lingered, 
for it always took more than the first clang of the 
dinner bell to pry him from the leader of the Patrol. 

Hec, ever hopeful of finding his old enemy, the 
May hew cat, tagged Dick, Joe, Mr. Steve, and 
his master, to the gate of the big place on the 
hill; and, while disappointed in immediate results, 
wagged his stump of a tail in rythmic approval of 
a conference which was sufficiently earnest to prom- 
ise developments. For Hec had come to know 


AT CAMP LOWELL 13 

that, when the fellows he idolized ceased to fool 
and talked in quiet tones, things of interest happened 
in the immediate future. Nor was he really heart- 
broken when Mr. Steve refused to let him hunt 
the cat. When the group broke up, he followed 
Tug and Joe back down the street and finally went 
to sleep in the center of Mr. Wilson’s pansy bed. 

The eight who again gathered at the Lowell’s 
that afternoon appeared anything but a disin- 
terested lot. There was an atmosphere of suspense 
and anxiety which quieted even the talkative Pease. 
Dick Hunt had said he would come. But would his 
courage still hold? It was a question they asked 
themselves, but not each other. They had waited 
so long to carry out their promise to Mr. Nelson to 
make the boy a Wolf that, now that its fulfillment 
seemed at hand, it seemed almost too good to be 
true. The strange part of the whole affair was 
that not one of them really cared a snap about 
Dick. They were Scouts, ready and willing to do 
the best sort of Scout work, but every one of them 
would have preferred to have carried out that work 


14 THE BOY SCOUTS 

with some boy who had not been mixed up with 
a Hun plot. And Dick knew this. It was one 
of the two reasons why he had held back so long. 

Four o’clock came and dragged its slow way into 
the past. A dozen times Harve wished he had 
not worn his new wrist watch in swimming. Joe 
finally rebelled at telling him the time. Hec, on his 
haunches, stared at the anxious group so intently 
that Field, in desperation, threw his cap at him 
and was promptly informed by Tug at just which 
spot he “got off.” 

Hec, having retrieved the cap, was in the throes 
of worrying it to death when a quiet voice inter- 
rupted everything. Joe was on his feet in an in- 
stant. “Hello yourself, Dick!” he replied. 
“Thought you’d forgotten to come.” 

“Didn’t know I was late.” 

“You’re not,” comforted Fat, treating himself to 
another glance at his jewelry. “Blamed if I know, 
though, whether it’s ten-fifteen this morning or 
seven-twenty-seven last night.” 

“Guess we’ll get a move on,” Joe suggested. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


15 


“Generally have patrol meetings in somebody’s 
house, Dick,” he explained, as he walked to the 
boy. “The Troop meets in the hall over the bank 
but Mr. Nelson, the Scout Commissioner, has given 
the Wolves permission to do this in our own way. 
We haven’t taken any one into the Patrol since Tug 
was a Tenderfoot, and that was when we were all 
Second Class Scouts. Ready, fellows?” 

“We are.” 

“We have been.” 

“Then let’s go!” He thrust his hand under 
Hunt’s arm and started toward the gate, the rest at 
his heels. Dick’s lips drew into a straight line. He 
hadn’t the remotest idea what was going to happen, 
but his mind was made up to go through anything 
without a protest. 

They had not gone two hundred yards before the 
howl of a motor horn brought them around on their 
heels. There was a second’s silence, a yell. Up 
the hill came roaring that big, blue runabout in 
which Stephen Mayhew tore around Gillfield. It 
slid to a stop at the curb. “Hoped I’d catch you 


16 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


chaps,” he said. “Where are you taking the neo- 
phyte, and why haven’t you got him shackled ?” 

There was an answering grin from the eight, but 
Dick’s face was a study. To have Mr. Steve sug- 
gest such things was unexpected. Before he had 
time to gasp, Fat Foster chuckled. “He can’t es- 
cape,” he retorted. “Hec, the blood-hound, is ready 
to run him up a tree.” 

“Have you an ax to cut the tree down with?” 
Mr. Steve’s voice was sober. 

“Everything is provided for, sir.” 

“All right, Joe. Need any help?” 

There was a yell of delight. “You bet!” shouted 
Fat above the chorus. “Ditch old pop-and-smoke 
and come on.” 

“Til run it into the garage instead. Be with you 
in a minute.” 

“Going up into the grove,” Joe called after him. 
“Come on, Dick.” 

“Is — is Mr Steve really coming?” 

“Is he!” Even Alex Cotton laughed. “Think 
he’d miss anything like this? Not in about two 


AT CAMP LOWELL 17 

thousand years! He had a tender heart before he 
went over-seas, but since he came out of the army — 
hard boiled? Oh, boy!” 

They turned through the great stone gateway 
which guarded the Mayhew place and started up the 
drive with a confidence none of them would have 
dreamed of feeling a year ago. Now it was as if 
they were part owners. The Old Boss let them 
come and go as they chose. And they would as 
soon have dreamed of abusing his hospitality as they 
would have passed him without a salute. He was 
not only the author of most of their good fortune, 
but their friend. Even Hec, spying a maltese streak, 
cleared the flower bed as he started the pursuit. 

“He'll kill it !” Dick’s cry was one of real alarm. 

“Not unless he’s grown wings,” laughed Nelse. 

“Hec can run,” indignantly declared the loyal 
Tug. 

“He’ll be glad of it — if that cat ever gets tired of 
fooling him,” was the comforting retort. “Hurry 
up.” 

Beyond the kitchen garden Hec rejoined the pro- 


18 THE BOY SCOUTS 

cession, with as much pride as if he had slain a zoo 
instead of having been told the truth by the May- 
hew cook. Tug looked at him with loyal eyes. 
“Some dog!” he exclaimed. 

“And some fox,” chuckled Nelse. “He wouldn’t 
hurt that cat on a bet. He licked Hixon’s bull-pup 
for chasing it last week, Dick.” 

But Hunt merely nodded. His mind was busy 
with other things. He wondered what was going 
to happen to him. A moment later Stephen May- 
hew came up. For some reason Dick began to feel 
a bit more at ease. If the Scouts had an initiation, 
it would be less trying, he thought, with the Scout 
Master in charge. 

At the edge of the big grove, Lowell came to a 
halt. “Please,” he commanded sharply, “remain 
here with the candidate. When I whistle, blindfold 
him; when I whistle the second time, conduct him 
to the lair of the Wolves.” 

“Yes, sir.” Nelson’s hand snapped to salute but 
his blue eyes danced. 

“Forward, Wolf Patrol!” 


AT CAMP LOWELL, 19 

Dick hesitated, then set his teeth. Nelse was the 
one he dreaded most. But he had promised himself 
he would play the game. It seemed ages before a 
shrill whistle broke the silence and a handkerchief 
was bound over his eyes; longer ages before the 
second signal came and he felt a hand on his arm 
and began to advance. 

Pease made no effort to confuse him by turning 
him around and around, and Dick realized he was 
being led into the heart of the grove. He began to 
feel more confident. This ceremony was to be dig- 
nified. If not, he believed his troubles would have 
begun already. “Halt!” came the sharp command. 

He was brought to an abrupt stop. “A Wolf 
approaches with an unknown animal,” announced a 
voice at his side. 

“Advance, Wolf! The Pack is in council. Was 
the hunting good?” 

“The hunting was not good. The animal is all 
bone above the neck.” 

“Hideous! Produce the animal.” 

“Animal,” ordered Nelse, “advance.” He pushed 


20 THE BOY SCOUTS 

Hunt forward. Dick heard the crackle and snap 
of a fire, caught the clean, fresh odor of the smoke. 

“Wolf/’ demanded a voice Hunt recognized as 
Joe’s, “you have brought a Thing to the council 
fire. Why has the law of the Wolves been broken.” 
“Answer, Beast!” ordered Nelse. 

“I dunno,” mumbled Hunt. 

“ 'He dunno,’ ” imitated Nelse. 

“You brought it,” declared Joe sharply; “explain.” 
“It looked a little like a Wolf, O Leader of the 
Pack! I thought we should investigate.”* 

“Like a Wolf?” Joe’s voice rang with disbelief. 
“We will investigate. Remove its coat.” 

Pease obeyed. He did more. He rolled up both 
Dick’s sleeves. “It’s a cub,” he announced; “a 
wolf cub, free from the mark of any pack. No; 
wait! There is a scar.” 

“It’s — it’s where I was vaccinated,” faltered Dick. 
“There was a heap of hog cholera round here 
last winter,” drawled a voice which sounded like 
Fat’s. 

Dick felt inquisitive fingers on his arm. “He 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


21 


looks healthy enough now,” owned Nelse. 

"Is he mentally sound?” 

"I think not.” 

"We will test his brain first. Bring forth the 
magnifying glass.” 

Dick heard some one step close to him, felt some- 
thing rest on his head. "There is no sign of brain, 
O Leader of the Pack!” announced a voice he 
thought to be Stan’s. 

"Test him.” 

"Are you a Boy Scout?” 

"No, sir.” 

"No brain at all,” was the instantaneous pro- 
nouncement. 

"Give him one more chance,” begged Nelse; "put 
the great question.” 

"It shall be put. Listen well, Animal, and an- 
swer; for upon that answer rests your fate: Tf 
a Boy Scout met a mince pie, which way would the 
Big Dipper point?’ ” 

"To Harve Foster,” declared Dick. 

"Kill him!” 


22 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“Silence in the council! Are you a Wolf cub?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“If you don’t, who does?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Knew he didn’t know anything,” growled 
Harve. Turn him loose and let Hec catch a rabbit.” 

“Silence! Animal, would you like to be a Wolf 
cub?” 

“I guess so.” 

“Don’t you know so?” 

“Yes.” 

“If the Pack would accept you, would you ac- 
cept the laws of the Pack?” 

“Yes.” 

“How do you know? You don’t know them.” 

“I guess,” declared the boy, “if they’re good 
enough for you fellows, they’re good enough for 
me.” 

“That’s a good answer. You shall be accepted. 
You shall be given the mark of the Pack. But 
remember this, Animal, a Wolf is courageous. 
Advance to the fire.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 23 

Again Dick Hunt was led forward. When he 
was halted, he could feel the heat from the blazing 
sticks at his feet,. “Is the Mark of the Pack pre- 
pared?” 

“It is white hot,” answered Cotton’s voice. 

“Animal, it is not too late. Shall the mark of 
the Wolf be seared upon your arm?” 

Dick’s teeth set. He wondered how badly Mr. 
Steve would let them hurt him. In his mind he 
could see Cotton lifting the branding iron from the 
glowing coals. “I want to be a Wolf,” he said, 
through tight lips; “go ahead.” 

“Throw that pail of water on him when he faints,” 
ordered Joe. “Ready, Alex! Just above the el- 
bow. Now !” 

Dick stiffened suddenly. Something seemed to 
be eating into his arm and searching for the bone. 
He thought he could smell the odor of searing 
flesh as the pain shot through his whole body. His 
teeth clinched until they hurt. The brand pressed 
in. He swayed, his head went back. A full bucket 
of water splashed over him. 


24 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


There was a yell, when the bandage was torn from 
his eyes, the light made him blink. His only thought 
was for his aching arm, and he turned his head to 
look. There came a chorus of yells, whoops, shouts 
of delight. For an instant he stood there, aghast, 
dripping, white, bewildered. His eyes rose from 
his arm to Alex Cotton’s purple face, then fell to 
his arm again. Instead of a white and spluttering 
iron in an agonizing sore, there was pressed against 
his skin a bit of ice. 

“Cub/’ gasped Joe Lowell, holding, out his hand, 
“you have answered the questions and stood the 
test. Welcome to the Pack.” 

Dick took the offered hand, a foolish grin spread- 
ing over his face. “I didn’t know Scouting was like 
this,” he confessed. 

“Scouting isn’t,” declared Joe. “This is just 
what we call the Pack. The Troop meets this 
evening; the Wolf Patrol is a part of that. You’ll 
be made a Tenderfoot to-night. You’re Wolf ma- 
terial, all right, all right. Fellows, shake hands with 
the Wolf cub.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 25 

For a moment they crowded around, slapping him 
on the back, laughing, joking. It was when Mr. 
Steve came up that Dick’s smile faded. There was 
a look in the blue eyes which made him catch his 
breath. 

“Pm glad you are going to be in our Patrol, 
Dick,” he said. “I think you’re our kind; I think 
we are yours. You’re game and a Scout is game. 
You’ve met things four-square and asked no favors. 
That is the Scout way. You’ve tried to know 
yourself. A Scout does that. You’ve stood on 
your own feet and fought your battle bravely. That 
is what every Scout tries to do. Scouting can teach 
much more, will do both. But you must help us 
by helping yourself. We are your friends ; you are 
ours. You are a Wolf. Run with the Pack and 
run true and straight and good luck to you, old 
chap.” 


CHAPTER II 


A JOB FOR A CUB 

Dick found the meeting of the Troop that even- 
ing a far different affair from the gathering of the 
hilarious Pack. The grave and whole-hearted way 
in which the fellows repeated the Scout oath, the 
snap and formality of the Salute to the Flag, the 
sober and thoughtful reading of the Scout Law, 
made him the more eager to be received into the 
organization. And when he at length stood forth 
a Tenderfoot, two thoughts were uppermost in his 
mind: he would be the sort of Scout Mr. Steve 
hoped he would be, and he would be a Tenderfoot 
not a day longer than regulations required. 

As he went home, he experienced something he 
had not known for two years. He wanted to be 
with the other fellows again, to get out of the bank 
and into a ball game; to have some one pound him 
26 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


27 


on the back and call him a “lobster” and to grin 
broadly while retorting. It was the first time he had 
realized what it had meant to have been without 
friends, even without companions. He wondered 
if the Wolves had really meant all they had said. 
He couldn’t see how that was possible. 

Among the lesser things he was thankful for was 
that the schools closed on the morrow. The Wolves 
would be free for the rest of the summer. His work 
would let him be with them after four each after- 
noon and half of Saturday. Life was gladsome 
again and Dick Hunt went into the house whis- 
tling. He had not done such a thing in many 
months. 

The next morning he was given another surprise. 
Mr. Nelson, on his way to his desk in the bank, 
nodded. “Glad you’re one of us, old fellow,” he 
said cordially. “There’re about twenty chaps in 
Gillfield who would give up a vacation to be in 
your place. A Wolf’s quite an animal in these 
parts.” 

Dick flushed. “I know who I owe it all to,” he 


28 THE BOY SCOUTS 

blurted. “I can never repay all you’ve done for 
me.” 

Mr. Nelson stopped short, then came back. “You 
don’t owe it to me, Dick,” he said, “and you must 
get such ideas out of your head. Those fellows 
are Scouts, just as you are, and they do things on 
their own initiative. They’re the ones you have to 
repay, but there is only one way of doing it. That,” 
he added gravely, “is by making good as a Wolf.” 

“I will,” declared the boy. 

“I think you will.” He hesitated a moment. 
“When do you want your vacation?” 

“Whenever it’s convenient. I’m not going any- 
where.” 

“Oh! I thought you’d want to go to Camp 
Lowell.” He looked at Dick’s blank face, then 
began to laugh. “Had you forgotten that?” 

“I’d never even thought of it, sir 1 . I never 
thought I could go up there. Why — why — ” He 
gulped and his face turned from white to red. 

“I’d think about it now,” advised the Scout Com- 
missioner. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


29 


Dick Hunt watched him walk away, the broad 
shoulders shaking with delight, over his little joke. 
But there was no humor in it for the boy, only a 
sudden leaping of the heart and a thrill of anticipa- 
tion such as he had never felt before. But, all at 
once, his head bowed and things grew dim. He 
remembered that it was he who had made Camp 
Lowell possible ; not in the way Joe and Tug Wilson 
had done, but because it was his blindness and fear 
which had given them their chance to solve the 
Stone plot and win the reward and friendship of 
old Boss Mayhew. How could he go where every- 
thing would recall his misfortune? How could the 
fellows forget, even if they had appeared ready 
to forgive? How could he dull his own sharp 
memory ? 

The figures on the big book swam before his 
eyes. He was sorry he had given in to Mr. Steve, 
sorry he had believed himself strong enough to 
meet the fellows four-square. But then came re- 
membrance of their welcome, their rollicking teas- 
ing, their friendly parting. He could still feel the 


30 THE BOY SCOUTS 

grip of Joe Lowell’s hand; the thought of the council 
fire and his unscarred arm. But that arm bore 
a scar, invisible but full of meaning. And still 
heavier was the meaning of the promises he had 
made the night before. He had given his word he 
would be brave and true and loyal. He had been 
told that Scouts played the game. He was a Scout. 
The brown head came up and the dull eyes grew 
bright. He had made one fight alone; he knew the 
one to come would be backed by the strength of the 
Wolf Patrol. 

For a year he had left the bank in the afternoon 
to hurry to the library, where he read until supper 
time. He had always loved books and they had 
repaid him in knowledge as well as in an excuse 
for avoiding the fellows. Yet, it must be confessed, 
that the boys had ably seconded the last part of 
his program. To-day he hardly knew what to do 
when his work was done. There was an article 
he wanted to finish, but there was a new desire 
which was even stronger. He wanted to hear Nelse 
Pease rag Fatty Foster. He almost thought he 


AT CAMP LOWELL 31 

might leave the library early and stroll home by way 
of the hill and the Lowell place. 

But, for the first time in months, his plans went 
wrong. As he came out of the bank, three languid 
figures strolled out of the drug store across the 
street. “Oh!” exclaimed one of them, as if in vast 
surprise. “Behold Mr. Rockerbilt leaving his pri- 
vate treasury and awaiting his tame automobubble.” 

Dick grinned. “Hello, Nelse!” he called. 

“Greetings, little one! Did they keep you after 
school, or do you hate to tear yourself from the 
dear old job?” 

“Cash didn’t balance the first time,” explained 
Dick, as he joined them. 

“Must have been my Patrol account,” admitted 
the careful Pease. “Have you met my friend Mr. 
Foster. Also Mr. Lowell.” 

“Pm no friend of yours, Nelse,” declared Fat. 

“You bet your life you’re not,” Nelse agreed. 
“Any prune who can absorb two more sodas than I 
can isn’t a friend, he’s a curiosity.” 

“I think we ought to stuff him,” grinned Joe. 


32 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“What with?” snorted Nelse. “You couldn’t in- 
sert a sheet of tissue paper into his pantry this min- 
ute.” 

“Is that so!” cried Fat. “You make a record by 
treating and I’ll show you. I’ll drink two more — 
if you’ll pay for ’em.” 

“I’ve even less cash than curiosity,” grinned Nelse. 
“Come on, or the rest of the crowd’ll think we’re 
dead.” 

“Where are you going?” Dick would have left 
the question unuttered had it not been for that 
joyous “we.” 

“Away from here, I’m afraid,” sighed Fat. 
“Nelse’d see me die of thirst before he’d loosen.’' 

“That’s no dream.” 

“I’ll set ’em up.” Dick’s offer was hesitating. 
He was not quite sure how they would take an in- 
vitation from him. 

“Fine!” H'arve’s voice was hearty and he started 
for the store. 

“Come back here,” ordered Joe. “You couldn’t 
swallow another.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 33 

“But I could look lovingly on Dick’s little gift, 
Joe. I’d try to absorb it. I’m always polite.” 

“We haven’t time. And, if you did bust, it 
would spoil everything for a couple of days.” 

“All you want to do is save my life now so you 
can work me to death next week up at that old 
shack,” wailed Harve, throwing a big arm across 
Lowell’s shoulder. “Some other day, Dick,” he 
promised. “Save your pennies and I’ll do the rest.” 

“But I’d really like to. I haven’t had a soda 
for ages.” 

“Come on then.” Harve turned promptly and 
led the way into the store. “Joe’ll have lemon,” 
he said. “Honestly, Nelse and I couldn’t do any- 
thing with another except flood our ears.” 

Three minutes later and they were again on their 
way up the street. Dick knew he had never spent 
a quarter which had given him so much fun. The 
library was forgotten. All he could think of was 
his good fortune in meeting the fellows just as he 
came from work. He did not dream that they had 
been waiting for him half an hour, nor did they 


34 THE BOY SCOUTS 

intend he should. That was not the way of the 
Wolves. 

When they finally strolled into the Lowells’ yard 
it was to find the rest of the Pack under an apple 
tree and extremely busy doing nothing at all. 
“Where’d you catch that lobster?” demanded Stan, 
waving his hand toward Hunt. 

Dick needed only Alex’s cuff on his head to 
make him know the world was all sunshine. Life 
had never been like this. He dug his toe into the 
turf and tried not to grin with his ears. “I may 
be a lobster,” he admitted, “but I want to go on rec- 
ord right here as having no intention of being a 
crab.” 

“Don’t boast,” grunted Ned Field. “We’re not 
interested in your future. Have you done your 
daily good deed?” 

“He offered to buy me a soda,” announced Harve. 

“That wasn’t any good deed; it was throwing 
good money away.” 

“But I couldn’t drink it,” mourned Fat. 

“Then you’ve got it in your handkerchief,” com- 


AT CAMP LOWELL 35 

forted Ned. “You may be able to stuff yourself 
but you can’t stuff me, Joe,” he declared, turning 
to the Patrol leader. “We’ve been trying to line 
things up, but we’ve got to get busy, if we’re really 
going to get up to camp to-morrow. Let’s quit 
fooling and get on the job.” 

“Suits me.” 

“All right ; start something.” 

“Suppose you tell us what you’ve already decided.” 
Joe threw himself on the ground and looked from 
one to the other. If Dick expected any special in- 
vitation to do anything in particular at that mo- 
ment, he was disappointed. He was a Wolf. His 
rights were the same as theirs. They intended to 
have him understand that. 

He wavered for a second, undecided what to 
do. Then instinct, or modesty, or something or 
other, bade him do the right thing. He sat 
down beside Tug and began to imitate a vast 
silence. 

“We’re going to start for Camp Lowell to-morrow 
morning.” 


36 THE BOY SCOUTS 

“We decided that about six months ago,” growled 
Harve; “get somewhere.” 

“I’m beginning at the beginning,” retorted Ned 
haughtily. “I — ” 

“I’ve just finished a lovely course in ancient his- 
tory,” suggested Harve, “and I’m full up on the 
stuff. What do we take along in the way of sus- 
tenance ?” 

“We’ll buy your hay when we get there,” drawled 
Nick. 

“Don’t like breakfast foods; they just tease me. 
I want a tame hen who’ll .lay me two nice, fresh 
eggs every morn.” 

“All right. Put down one tame hen for the boa- 
constrictor, Alex. What do you think about hiking 
up, Joe?” 

“Suits me. What do the rest think?” 

They nodded approval. “But how about toting 
all our clothes and stuff?” queried the cautious 
Harve. 

“I saw Mr. Steve this noon,” Joe announced. 
“Every fellow’s pack is to be on our piazza at ten 


AT CAMP LOWELL 37 

o’clock. He’s to send it all up to camp in their little 
truck.” 

“Good man!” 

“That’s the sort of Scout Master to have.” 
“Wouldn’t Mr. Steve think of just that?” 

Only Foster looked glum and shook his head. 
“I thought so,” he sighed. “I never knew a trout 
brook that didn’t have a sucker in it. Some one’s 
got to guard that luggage and ride up with it. 
Don’t bother to tell me I’m the goat. But I’ll do 
it. I’ll sacrifice myself and my pleasure for your 
welfare. I’m unselfish. I’ll ride.” 

Even Dick howled. “Will all the rest of you be 
ready to start at eight?” Joe asked. 

“Sure!” 

“You’ll have to have your uniform sent up, Dick,” 
Joe explained. “We can fix you up till it comes. 
You’ll need a pair of blankets, underclothes and 
stuff, some towels for swimming and — ” 

Dick’s face was a study. They didn’t invite him 
to go, merely took it for granted that he was going. 
He began to appreciate what it meant to be a Wolf. 


38 THE BOY SCOUTS 

“I got my Scout things this noon,” he stammered. 
“But I can’t go to Camp Lowell.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Say, where do you get that stuff ?” 

“Why not?” Joe’s voice was sober. 

“I have to work.” 

“Gee!” Joe exclaimed. “That’s so. I forgot 
about that.” He was silent a moment. “But you 
don’t work Saturday afternoons and Sundays. You 
can come up Saturday noons and go back Mondays. 
And you get a vacation, don’t you?” 

“Couple of weeks.” 

“Fine and dandy ! Alex has got to work during 
August. You can go and come together then. 
But, about to-morrow? You want to be there for 
the first night in camp.” 

“Easy enough,” declared Harve. “Why don’t 
you put the brain problems up to the thinking de- 
partment? Get Mr. Steve to hold that truck till 
noon. Dick can bring up the luggage.” 

“Thought you wanted to ride,” grinned Nick 
Reed. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


39 


“Do. But rather have ole Dick get up to camp. 
Maybe I need the exercise anyway. I was lookin’ 
at myself last night; I’m beginning to show faint 
traces of plumpness about the waist.” 

“Mean the head, don’t you?” chuckled Joe. “Well, 
that’s that and settled — if it’s O. K. with you, 
Dick?” 

“But will Mr. Mayhew think it’s all right?” 

“Oh, sure! He just suggested ten.” Joe knew 
Mr. Steve would disarrange any plan to help the 
Patrol, and do so gladly, if it would start the 
Tenderfoot in the right way. “Now let’s get down 
to real business. Alex, get out your book and we’ll 
check up the supply list. No more fooling now, 
fellows. If we’ve overlooked anything, it’s got to 
be ordered early in the morning and Dick will have 
to collect it. That will mean his losing just so 
much time and fun.” 

For half an hour they were actually serious. 
The lists of supplies were checked and rechecked 
as if they had been the offspring of the moment, 
rather than the outgrowth of months of care- 


40 THE BOY SCOUTS 

ful, thoughtful study. It was ten miles to Forest 
Lake and Camp Lowell, but one might have be- 
lieved it a thousand from the care taken to omit 
nothing. Yet that was the Wolf way : they had 
learned the wisdom of being prepared. It was 
better to think now than regret later. 

“I guess we’ve included about everything,” de- 
clared Joe at last. “I’ve one suggestion to make, 
though. Ned’s the commissary department, but I 
think it would be a good scheme to make Dick his 
assistant. He can do our shopping here and bring 
the stuff up with him Saturdays. It will save Ned 
the trip down.” 

Field nodded approval, but Pease had been too 
long quiet. “Going to buy him a wheel-barrow to 
push the stuff up in?” he snorted. “Or do you get 
a vision of him honking along the road with a 
trailer hitched to his belt? It would take four 
more donkeys to bring Fat’s fodder.” 

“Get Mr. Steve to ship it up,” suggested Stan 
languidly. “He’s always game.” 

“I don’t think we ought to ask him to do that.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 41 

Nelse sat up and looked vastly surprised. ‘‘Why, 
look who’s here!” he exclaimed. “Our dear Tug 
has come to life.” 

“That’s all right,” declared the little fellow, “but 
I think exactly that.” 

“Having taken about an hour to say something,” 
agreed Nelse. “I’ll say it’s a mature thought. 
Does Hec second your motion?” 

“I believe Tug’s dead right,” stated Joe. “Mr. 
Steve would do anything for us, but let’s do a few 
things for ourselves. Why not leave this trans- 
portation stuff up to Ned and Dick?” 

“Fine!” agreed Nelse. “That’s exactly the way 
I believe in doing things ourselves. What do you 
think about it, Ned?” 

Field grinned amiably. “Knew I’d end up as the 
goat somehow,” he said, “but I’m game. We’re 
only too glad to do our share. Dick, you’re the 
town end of the commissary. I’ll tell you what 
we want at camp ; you buy it and get it there.” 

There came a general gasp, then a roar. Pease 
might be an expert at avoiding things, but he was 


42 THE BOY SCOUTS 

an amateur at “passing the buck” when compared 
with Field Dick did not know this, however. 
It was one of the many little characteristics he had 
yet to learn. All that he grasped was that they 
had asked him to do something for them. “I’ll 
do the best I can, of course,” he agreed so- 
berly. 

Ned Field’s jaw dropped. For once he had been 
fooling. Camp Lowell was as dear to him £s to the 
rest and he intended to do his full part. But now 
he had an inspiration. “That’s settled, then,” he 
stated. “You fellows forget it; it’s going to be a 
good job well done. I’ve got to be moving. Come 
on, Dick.” 

The Tenderfoot rose. “It’s mighty nice of you 
all to give me this job,” he said, his thin cheeks 
flushed. “I — appreciate it.” 

“Say!” gasped Nelse, a moment later. “That 
chap’s either one easy mark or a corker. Joe, the 
ole bean was on the job when you made us take him 
into the Patrol.” 


“You’ve burbled a fact,” agreed Nick. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


43 


“Maybe you’re both right,” said Harve, “but I’m 
going to save my bouquets until I see how the grub 
comes through. It’s a big job for a Tenderfoot.” 
“Feeding you? I’ll say so!” 


CHAPTER III 


HANSON HOLDS THE ROAD 

Tug Wilson did not sleep much that night. No 
Wolf had begun to anticipate the summer in camp 
at Forest Lake so vividly. He considered himself 
the least important member of the Patrol, never 
giving a thought to the Medal of Honor he had won 
and not in the least comprehending that none of the 
rest would have thought of going without him. 
Now he could hardly believe that the time to start 
was almost in sight on the clock. 

He was up with the sun and his pack ready long 
before breakfast. A dozen times he had checked 
the list of things he was to take. He could think 
of no single thing he had omitted. Unable to 
imagine anything else in the way of preparedness, 
he had led the mystified Hec to the back porch and 
treated him to an early morning bath. Which 


44 


AT CAMP LOWELL 45 

same was not Hec’s idea of the beginning of a per- 
fect day. 

Tug, his bulging pack and his laundered pup, ap- 
peared at the Lowells’ gate fifty-seven minutes be- 
fore the zero hour. The boy perched on the fence 
and whistled; the dog rolled in the dust until he 
again began to feel natural. 

Finally the rest arrived. The packs were piled and 
left ready for Dick Hunt to pick up. Lowell looked 
over his followers. “All aboard !” he called. 
“Good-by, Mother; come up soon.” And with a 
wave of his hand to the smiling Mrs. Lowell, he led 
the way into the street. “My!” exclaimed Tug. 
“Doesn’t seem true, does it?” 

“What doesn’t?” 

“That we’re really going, Nick.” 

“Reckon we’ll think it’s true enough in about an 
hour. Some little hike, ole top!” 

Lowell and Foster, at the head of the Patrol, had 
that same idea. Old at the game, they had no in- 
tention of giving Gillfield the impression they were 
tireless walkers by starting out at a rattling pace. 


46 THE BOY SCOUTS 

A slow, steady, swinging heel and toe, with fre- 
quent halts for rest, would be what would get them 
to the lake in fit condition. Joe whistled between 
his teeth as they went down the hill. Fat’s eyes, 
for once, were serious. 

“Good-by, you fellows,” called a voice from be- 
hind a white cottage. 

Joe turned, then swung his arm. “So long, Bill !” 
he answered. “Come up and see a real camp some 
day.” 

“Mean that?” 

“Surest thing ever!” 

“That go for the rest of us?” 

Joe stopped. “Betcher!” he agreed. “We Wolves 
are always glad to have the Fox Patrol around.” 

Bill Long meandered down to the hedge with 
characteristic laziness. “Got a place to play ball 
up there?” 

“Good enough one to teach your outfit the game 
on,” grinned Alex. 

“We’d sorter like to learn it,” drawled Bill. 
“ ’Course, Joe,” he added, “we aren’t trying to horn 


AT CAMP LOWELL 47 

in on your party, but we do enjoy licking you 
Wolves about once in so often/’ 

“How do you know that?’ demanded Nick. 

“We did at hockey.” 

“That’s no dream,” promptly admitted Nick; 
“good and plenty, too. But right here you get 
your bluff called about your almost nine. You set 
a date.” 

“Rather have you chaps do that — if you really 
want us.” 

“We’ll send you word next week,” stated Joe; 
“we’ve got to get settled. Why couldn’t the Foxes 
come up, play us and then stay to supper?” 

“Do you really mean that?” Bill showed real ex- 
citement. 

“Wouldn’t have suggested it, if we hadn’t.” 

“You’re on!” promised the leader of the Fox 
Patrol. “You ring the bell any old time and we’ll 
answer ‘Here.’ ” 

“That’s that,” stated Joe. “We’ve got to be on 
our way. Thanks, Bill.” 

“Any little presents in the way of thanks are 


48 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


headed your way. Next to the Foxes, you’re the 
best out! And say Harve, don’t eat all the huckle- 
berries before we get there.” 

Fat grinned over his shoulder. “Leave one apiece 
for you,” he promised. 

^Never thought of having a camp nine,” Alex 
offered as they swung down the hill. 

“Probably because we only had eight chaps be- 
fore we got Dick,” suggested Nelse. “Wonder if 
he can play.” 

“Wasn’t so much of a much when he was in the 
grammar school,” admitted the pitcher sorrowfully. 

“He’ll try, anyway,” declared Ned. “I’ll say that 
chap’s out to keep his best foot way in front of 
him.” 

“Hi, there! Who gave you fellows a permit to 
have a parade?” 

The demand was made in a deep, booming voice. 
The next instant there was an answering yell of de- 
light. “Three cheers for Officer Donovan.” 

The policeman grinned. “Goin’ to jump the 
town, are you?” he chuckled. “Good thing. Better 


AT CAMP LOWELL 49 

spend the summer on the lake than in jail. I’d have 
landed some of you, sure, if you’d have stuck round.” 

“Coming up to see us?” 

“Not ’less the farmers call for help.” 

“We’ll make ’em — if that’ll bring you,” promised 
Nick. 

“Don’t doubt you’ll try, son. Well, so long! 
Have a good time.” He nodded jovially and re- 
sumed his beat, wishing the Scouts had come to 
Gillfield twenty years sooner. 

A dozen other men had called friendly good-bys 
before they were free of the town. If more had 
been needed to make them believe it was the start 
of the best vacation ever, they could not have imag- 
ined that need. The fine part of the whole thing 
was that they took their popularity merely as a mat- 
ter of kindly interest on the part of the town. 
They were not the sort who, each morning, find 
their hats too small for their heads. Your true 
Scout never is. 

The day was perfect for a hike, the sun not too 
hot, the breeze just strong enough. But while 


50 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


they enjoyed every second of the morning, and every 
inch of the way, there was one member of the Pa- 
trol who found it hard to do his full duty. Bend- 
ing over his books back there in the Gillfield bank, 
Dick Hunt’s mind strayed from the columns of 
figures to the little column of singing boys on 
the open road. Time after time he had to grit 
his teeth and force himself back to the task in 
hand. 

It was even harder when Mr. Steve came in to 
see Mr. Nelson on business. He wanted to talk 
to the handsome young Scout Master, to ask him 
a dozen questions, but Mr. May hew passed with 
only a friendly nod. Dick’s surprise was the 
greater when, half an hour later, he became aware 
of some one at his elbow and, looking up, saw Mr. 
Steve smiling down at him. 

“Good day to be out doors,” he announced. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Fellows must be most up to the lake now, don’t 
you think?” 

Dick’s smile only crinkled the corners of his 


AT CAMP LOWELL 51 

mouth. “That’s the one thing I’ve been trying not 
to think about,’’ he confessed. 

“Rather guessed that. Well, old chap, I’\e some 
bad news for you. Can’t let you have that truck 
at one o’clock.’’ He saw the boy’s face drop and 
did not have the heart to continue the game. 
“You’ve got to go now,” he laughed. “Mr. Nel- 
son say ( s it’s all right.” 

Dick was on his feet in a second. “Really?” 
Then, before Mr. Mayhew could answer, he 
plumped down again. “Give me five minutes,” he 
begged; “I can do most of my work in that and 
leave only a little for some one else to do.” 

“Take ten, if you need them,” came the hearty 
reply. “That’s the proper spirit to show. I’m 
going back to the mill and I’ll send Burke and the 
truck to the Lowells’.” 

“Fine! I’ll get my own things on the way up 
there.” 

A firm hand fell on his shoulder for a moment. 
“May be up to-morrow,” said Mr. Steve, and 


went out. 


52 THE BOY SCOUTS 

Dick’s five minutes grew to fifteen, but he made 
that up by the speed with which he dashed home 
for his pack and from there to the Lowells’. He 
was carrying the duffle from the porch to the curb 
when Burke arrived. “I’ll toss ’em up to you, 
if you’ll stow ’em,” he offered. 

“Ye’re th’ boss,” grinned the big good-natured 
driver. 

“You’re the expert,” laughed Dick. “I’d just 
pile things in a heap and smash most of the stuff.” 

“Then be after givin’ me th’ heavy stuff foirst,” 
suggested Burke. “ ’Tis goin’ to be wan load, 
Oi’m thinkin’.” 

Within five minutes Dick appreciated it was all 
that. He realized it was a hot day long before 
he climbed up beside Burke and the truck went 
joggling down the hill. He was glad Burke’s 
whole attention was needed at the wheel, for his 
lungs seemed quite anxious for all his breath and 
he enjoyed the silence. But, as soon as they were 
in the country, Burke proved he had no especial 
desire to be selfish with his thoughts. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 53 

It was an enjoyable trip for Dick. He had not 
been so far from the town in months. There had 
been nothing to take him from his routine of home, 
bank, and library and already he was beginning 
to wonder what had possessed him. He might 
have crept out of his shell just as safely six months 
ago and he had lost much by not doing so. He 
thought of this, and many similar things, as they 
rolled toward the foot-hills but, while this was in 
the back of his mind, he still managed to listen to 
<Burke. 

“Th’ Ould Boss was generous in givin’ ye bhoys 
th’ camp,” the man declared, as they began to climb 
the first of the hills, “but he was after bein’ some 
generous to himself as well, Oi’m tellin’ ye. He 
Ho be glad to have ye all watchin’ Hanson fur 
him.” 

“Who’s Hanson?” 

“Hanson? Ain’t, ye ever heard tell o’ Han- 
son ?” 

“Never even heard his name.” 

“Th’ Ould Boss’d like yer luck,” chuckled Burke. 


54 THE BOY SCOUTS 

“He do be able to get along peaceful like wid 
most anythin’ what walks on two feet, but ever 
since Hanson got th’ farm forenenst th’ Mayhew 
holdin’s, he’s been after tryin’ to row wid th’ 
Boss.” 

“Didn’t suppose a white man could row with a 
Mayhew,” observed Dick. 

“An’ who be sayin’ Hanson was after bein’ 
white?” demanded Burke. “Ask th’ neighbors up 
to th’ lake; they knows his color. He’s fit most 
o’ ’em. Ye bhoys want to lave him be, do ye 
be wantin’ pleasure out o’ yer camp. He’s pizen 
an’ then some.” 

Dick was thoughtful for a moment. “It takes 
two to make a row,” he said at last, “and I don’t 
believe any fellow in the Wolf Patrol is going to 
help along any trouble. We’d rather be friendly 
with every one.” 

“Hav’ ut yer own way,” grunted Burke, in 
frank disgust. “ ’Tis none o’ my affair.” 

“I didn’t mean it that way at all,” Dick declared 
quickly. “I certainly do appreciate your tip and 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


55 


so will the fellows. But, you see, we all try to 
help people and we all want to do a good deed 
every day. I sorter thought we might be able to do 
a lot of good deeds by trying to be so decent to this 
man Hanson that he would not want to be dis- 
agreeable.’ ’ 

“If ye want to do a good deed,” rumbled Burke, 
“kill Hanson. That ’ud be somethin’ ye could be 
after getting a medal for.” 

Dick had to laugh. He saw there was no use 
arguing with Burke. “Let’s forget Hanson,” he 
suggested, “and let’s hope we fellows won’t get 
into any messes up here.” 

Burke, who had a vivid memory of Dick’s own 
particular “mess,” looked at him out of the cor- 
ner of his eyes. “Oi’m wid ye on that,” he stated, 
“an’ Oi’m after thinkin’ nothin’ much ’ull happen to 
ye unless wan or two of ye get drownded an’ et up 
by th’ bullheads.” 

“That’s a cheerful thought. How much further 
is it?’ 

“Ain’t ye been up to Camp Lowell?” There 


56 THE BOY SCOUTS 

was honest astonishment in the question. 

Dick shook his head. “They’ve only just taken 
me into the Patrol,” he confessed. “I haven’t been 
at the lake since the camp was built.” 

“ ’Tain’t fur now.” Burke shifted his gears 
as the grade stiffened into the final upward pitch. 
The truck rumbled up the uneven road which clung 
to the edge of a swirling brook overhung by woods. 
With a final roar of the exhaust, they won the sum- 
mit and came out onto an open plateau. To the 
east rose the mountains, behind opened a glorious 
view, and far down the valley they could see the 
chimneys of the Mayhew plant. Ahead, they saw 
the gleam of Forest Lake set in its frame of tall, 
still pines; and here and there, prosperous look- 
ing farm houses which broke the monotony of the 
level fields. The speed of the truck increased, but 
not half enough to suit the desire of the boy. 
“We’ll be after turnin’ in beyant that big, red 
barn,” announced the driver. 

Dick was all eyes now. The half mile yet to be 
covered seemed by far the longest part of the 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


57 


journey. The lake had disappeared behind its 
shield of pines. He searched for signs of smoke 
above the trees. Surely the Wolves must have 
arrived and started dinner long before this. 

He was so interested in his anticipations that he 
had not watched the road ; so, when the truck came 
to a grinding stop, it startled him even more than 
Burke’s low-growled “Begorra, he won’t be after 
lettin’ ye ferget him!” 

Dick looked ahead and saw a pair of horses, 
hitched to a farm wagon, standing in the center of 
the narrow road. “Move over!” called Burke; 
“gimme half th’ road.” 

The lean, weasel-faced farmer on the seat shifted 
a straw further into the corner of his thin lipped 
mouth. “You folks ain’t goin’ to run everythin’ 
up here,” he announced. “Ye’ve got room enough ; 
get by.” 

“Want to bog me in that; ditch, do ye? Think 
ye’ll get th’ Ould Boss to give ye a couple o’ dollars 
fur haulin’ me out, do ye? Well, ye’ve got wan 
more guess,” roared Burke. “Oi’ll wait here as 


58 THE BOY SCOUTS 

long as ye will.” And he promptly shut off his 
engine and reached for his pipe. 

“You’ve scart my hosses,” yelled the farmer, 
giving a vicious jerk on the reins and making the 
skinny off horse rear half-heartedly. 

“Nothin’ doin’, Hanson!” stated Burke. “En- 
gin’s dead an’ there ain’t nothin’ to scare yer bone- 
yard. Oi’ve met up wid ye afore. Git out o’ th’ 
way !” 

“I’m out of yer way.” 

“All right. Suit yerself. Oi’ve got till Mon- 
day mornin’,” And he lit the pipe and set back in 
comfort. “Glad to make ye acquainted with 
Mister Hanson so pleasant, Dick. We’ll be after 
sittin’ him out, Oi’m thinkin’.” 

“He’s certainly being disagreeable. I didn’t 
know any farmer would refuse to give half the road 
nowadays.” 

“None o’ th’ white wans will. This bird’s jest 
bein’ natural. He’ll begin to squawk in wan 
minut,e.” 

It proved good prophecy. Hanson squawked, 



umw °n 0bc % 


HANSON SQUAWKED, RAGED, VOWED ALL SORTS OF 
VENGEANCE ” 


















































































. 















/ 




1 













l 






































t 


























































AT CAMP LOWELL 


59 


raged, vowed all sorts of vengeance, claimed many 
kinds of damages, and threatened many kinds 
of suits against the Mayhews; but Burke merely 
smoked in silence as he studied the peaceful 
mountains. At last the farmer, appreciating that he 
was fighting a losing battle, changed his tactics. 
‘‘One o’ ye lead me horses an’ I’ll move over,” he 
offered. “They’re skeered an’ I’m takin’ an awful 
chance o’ gettin’ smashed. But I ain’t no road- 
hog, nohow.” 

“No,” growled Burke, “ye’re a herd of ’em. 
Be after leadin’ yer own hosses. They’re too 
near dead to be skeered o’ anythin’ but a bag o’ 
oats.” 

But Dick was on the ground before Burke had 
finished speaking. He knew enough about Scout- 
ing to know it was a Scout’s duty to help others 
and to do, what seemed to him, a kindly act. If, 
by pretending to lead these weary old horses half 
way out of the road, he could “save Hanson’s face,” 
he could see no harm in making the attempt; and 
much good might result in proving to the man that 


60 THE BOY SCOUTS 

the Wolves were ready to go out of their way to 
play the game with him. 

“Don’t touch them skates!” warned Burke. 
“He’s up to somethin’.” 

“Take th’ nigh one gentle-like,” ordered Hanson 
whiningly. “I’ll start ’em; you hold ’em if they 
try to run.” 

“All right.” Dick reached for the bridle and 
patted the weary head. “Come on,” he ordered, 
and started to lead them. 

But even as he took the first step, Hanson gave 
a savage tug at the rein and cut the off horse 
viciously with the whip. The pair jumped. The 
boy was almost thrown from his feet. The rick- 
ety wagon went careening into the ditch. Hanson, 
livid with pretended rage, leaped to the ground, 
whip in hand. 

“Ye will ditch me!” he screamed. “Ye will 
smash my wagon an’ abuse my hosses. I’ve stood 
enough Mayhew dirty work an’ I’ll teach you 
now.” 

But, before he could advance a step, the truck’s 


AT CAMP LOWELL 61 

motor came to life and Burke threw in his gears. 
Hanson caught one glimpse of the face above the 
steering wheel as the machine came down on him. 
He knew it was either jump or go down. He 
jumped. 

Tricked for the moment, he had no intention of 
taking such a thing supinely. He was back in 
the road again almost as soon as the truck had 
passed the tail of his wagon. The fact that his 
supposedly frightened horses were greedily crop- 
ping bushes in the ditch did not bother him at all. 
Great damage had been done. He made a swing 
at Dick with his whip. 

The boy, startled by the suddenness of the whole 
affair, had not moved. But the sting of the lash 
around his calves made him jump and utter a cry 
of surprise. He saw the whip curl back again 
but leaped out of range. “What are you trying to 
do?” he yelled. “Quit it!” 

But Burke was out of the truck by now, the 
fighting light sparkling in his eyes, a heavy wrench 
in his hand. “Hit that bhoy agin an’ Oi’ll bite 


62 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


dirt wid ye, Hanson,” he yelled. “Oi’ll hang 
yer skunk hide on th’ fence, if ye so much as 
moive.” 

‘Til have ye arrested for assault,” threatened 
Hanson, “assault with intent to kill. An’ I’ll have 
the boy arrested for wreckin’ my team.” 

”A11 ye’ll do is get measured by th’ undertaker,” 
retorted Burke. 

“Let him alone,” begged D'ick; “we’re past him 
and we don’t want any trouble with him; you said 
so yourself.” 

“Oi’ve changed me moind. Oi want wan heap o’ 
trouble with him an’ me monkey wrench right 
now an’ here.” 

“If you hit him, he can have you arrested; he 
hasn’t touched you.” 

“An’ I’ll do it,” promised the crafty Hanson, 
quick to see a loophole for escape. 

Burke paused to scratch his ear. “Ye would do 
that,” he admitted; “ye’re that yaller mean. But 
the bhoy can have ye pinched fur hittin’ him wid th’ 
whip.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 63 

“He ditched my team first. He laid hands on 
my property/’ 

“Ye told him to.” 

“I did not. I told him not to touch me hosses.” 

Dick gasped. It, was such a crude lie he was 
aghast. 

“Ye are together,” proclaimed Hanson. “Ye 
blocked th’ road an wouldn’t let me pass. Ye 
got out, one o’ ye, an’ ditched my team. It’s 
my word agin yourn an’ every one knows th’ 
Mayhews have been tryin’ to run me off th’ 
mountain.” 

“Come on,” growled Dick, utterly disgusted. 
“Let’s get out of this and forget it. He makes 
me sick.” 

“Yea!” triumphed Hanson. “An’ I’ll make ye 
sicker before I’m done with ye, ye young smart 
Alec!” 


Chapter iv 


HEC BECOMES POPULAR 

As they turned from the highway into the lane 
leading lakewards, Dick felt as if the sun ha'd 
suddenly gone behind a cloud and a perfect day 
become gloomy and depressing. Above all things, 
he hated a row, and the experience with Hanson 
had been so unpleasant and so uncalled for that 
it left him numb. He could not grasp even the 
slightest of excuses for the man’s action. Nothing 
but plain, unadultered meanness could have caused 
the farmer to have gone so far out of his way 
to make trouble. In this decision, the raging 
Burke was whole-heartedly and vociferously in 
accord. 

When the truck pulled into the little clearing 
beside Camp Lowell, even the yells of delight 
which welcomed his arrival failed to lift Dick out 


64 


AT CAMP LOWELL 65 

of his discomfort. He had a vague, disturbing 
feeling that, in some wholly unpremeditated man- 
ner, he had hung a promise of disaster above all 
their heads. It made him feel as if he wanted to 
steal off and be by himself, in order to hate him- 
self properly for being the innocent cause of in- 
viting trouble to descend upon these fellows who 
had done so much to lift very real trouble from 
his weary shoulders. 

That he was merely an excuse for Hanson’s 
conduct did not occur to him. Had he not been at 
hand, the man would have found some other ob- 
scure reason for starting a row with a Mayhew 
man. The very name of Mayhew was to him as a 
red rag to a bull. That the Old Boss held him 
as beneath contempt only added to his insane rage. 

Joe Lowell was quick to note that something had 
gone wrong, but he was far too wise to ask Dick 
any questions before the fellows. He did manage 
to get Burke off to one side for a moment, and from 
Burke’s rumbling eruptions gathered a vague idea 
about what had occurred. And, having met Han- 


66 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


son while the camp was being built, his face also 
became sober. He had no thought of blaming 
Dick; he had only regret that a fire, which he had 
hoped might have died out, had blazed up again. 

“You’re not out to bust any speed records, Harve,” 
he called suddenly; “take time enough to stack 
these cans on the kitchen shelves.” 

“I’m throwin’ ’em to Tug; he’s inside doing 
the stacking.” 

“Oh ! Then quit putting a drop on every 
pitch,” grinned Joe. “Sounds like somebody break- 
ing up housekeeping in there.” 

“And me, being the popular goat, gets roasted,” 
mourned Fat. “Here she comes, Tuggy.” And 
a couple of cans of soup flashed through the open 
window. “Wait till I get to the flour and I’ll 
show you how you’ll look as Santa Claus,” he 
promised. 

“You’re the one who’ll mind starving to death,” 
suggested Joe. “Pick up your pack, Dick, and I’ll 
show you your bunk and help you get settled.” 

Anxious to see the much talked of Camp Lowell 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


67 


in its entirety, Hunt was quick to accept the invi- 
tation. Swinging his blanket roll over his shoulder, 
he followed Joe onto the broad veranda overlook- 
ing the lake. Already a pair of hammocks were in 
place and several chairs were drawn near the rustic 
rail. It was certainly attractive, both for its com- 
fort and because of the view across the water. But 
the boy was anxious to see what the little build- 
ing was like inside. 

When the elder Mayhew had made the Wolves 
the envy of every Patrol within a hundred miles of 
Gillfield, he had done it in his customary sane way. 
There was nothing elaborate or luxurious about the 
place. It was comfortable, solid, convenient. The 
main building was, perhaps, thirty feet by twenty, 
clapboarded and with a well-pitched roof which 
slanted out to form the roof of the veranda. It 
contained but one big room, used as a dining, loung- 
ing and sleeping place. A big table, roughly built, 
stood in the center, while a cobbled fireplace was 
at one end. The bunks were along the other end 
and on the rear wall, double-decked affairs, each 


68 THE BOY SCOUTS 

with a comfortable mattress. In the rear, a small 
ell contained the kitchen and store room. If other 
things were needed, or improvements desired, the 
Old Boss had said that they were “up to the 
Wolves,” not to him. But not a Wolf could 
imagine the slightest addition to the equipment. 
Everything they could really need was there. 

“Your bunk’s the upper one in that corner,” 
stated Joe, as they went in; “Alex’ is under you 
and, if you snore, he'll probably kick at you till 
you think you’re aeroplaning. Boots and things go 
under Alex’ bunk; you share and share alike with 
that space. But everything must be kept shipshape. 
I inspect camp every morning and evening and 
whenever else I want to. If things don’t look 
right to me, the fellow who is to blame gets an 
extra turn at dish washing. And there’s no ap- 
peal from sentence, young-feller-me-lad.” 

“Who does the cooking?” 

“Stan and Nick. Both of ’em are pretty good — 
sometimes. Milk, eggs and stuff we buy from the 
farmers, also bread and pies and cake and the other 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


69 


real necessities. Most of these things come from 
Mrs. Bray and, believe me, Mr. and Mrs. Bray 
are regular people! Ned buys things from them 
and, whenever you’re here, you’ll have to help him, 
being assistant commissary.” 

“Suits me,” agreed Dick promptly. “How’s the 
rest of t.he work divided up? I want to do my 
full share while I’m here.” 

“Tug and Nelse take care of the boats and the 
yard around the camp. Alex and I get the wood. 
Harve does the sweeping and,” chuckled Joe, “is 
sorter permanently on the dish-washing crew. 
Everybody’s supposed to take his turn at that, 
though. Two fellows work at it at a time and it 
goes according to that schedule there on the door. 
When I assign a victim, the two regulars draw lots 
to see which of them escape. Reckon you’ll get a 
turn about every other Sunday because your other 
work won’t be heavy and you’ve got to do your 
share.” 

“Sure I have! Is there any fishing out there 
in the lake?” 


70 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“Plenty,” grinned Joe; “whole lake full. Don’t 
know how many fish there are, though. Fat says 
it’s alive with bass but he hasn’t been able to prove 
it” 

“Didn’t know he was a fisherman.” 

“You’ve nothing on the rest of us. Get anything 
to eat before you left Gillfield?” 

“At,e my lunch on the way up.” 

“That’ll make you popular with Stan. If you’ve 
all your things straightened out, let’s get back to 
the gang and find out what they’ve got on their 
minds for this aft.” 

It did not take long t;o find that out. Hardly 
were they through the door before Alex Cotton 
stalked up, an unusually sober expression on his 
somber face. “You’ve let us in for this, Joe,” 
he announced; “whatcher goin’ to do about 
it?” 

“Not having the least idea what you’re raving 
about, I don’t see how I’m going to give you the 
intelligent answer you’ve learned to expect from 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


71 

“When you get intelligent,” grunted Alex, “fes- 
toon your dome in lovely pink. You know 
what I mean. How about Bill Long and those 
Foxes?” 

“Oh!” Joe grinned. “Why worry? I never 
could stay all het up over a false alarm.” 

“That crowd can play ball.” There was no trace 
of levity about Cottpn’s statement. He was dealing 
with fact. 

“So can we.” 

“Maybe some of us can,” admitted Alex, “but 
there are some who’ll never keep the bush league 
scouts from getting their sleep. You’ve asked the 
Foxes up to play ball, Joe, and we ought to get in 
some practice before they come.” 

“Then why waste all the afternoon in a one- 
man debate?” suggested Joe. “You’re the com- 
mittee on athletics; get on the job.” 

“That’s what I wanted. Didn’t know but you’d 
have something else on your mind. Say, Dick, are 
you any sort of a ball player?” 


“Don’t think so.” 


72 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“That’ll be fine!” grumbled Cotton. “With 
you and Tug and Fat in the outfield we’ll at least 
have nine men.” 

Joe laughed. Old Alex had a habit of looking 
for the black side of every cloud. It was also 
characteristic in him to overlook the fact that 
his pitching was worth about six men to any nine 
which played behind him. “Don’t let’s be licked 
until after the game,” Joe suggested. “I’m ready 
to run my head off and blister my hands for a 
couple of hours, if it’ll make you any happier.” 

“Then come on. Hi, you fellows! Get your 
gloves and come up to the diamond for practice.” 

“I got a stone bruise running those bases a couple 
of weeks ago,” complained Nelse, springing up from 
the pine needles, where he had been resting after 
his half hour’s work. “Say, Harve, did you pick 
all the blackberries out in center field?” 

“I did not. There’s a hornet’s nest there and any 
ball that drops within ten yards of it is good for 
seven bases, for all of me.” 


“Alex says you’ve got to practice.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


73 


“All right,” Fat sighed, “I can’t grow any more 
sunburn on my neck than I’ve got there now.” He 
disappeared into the camp to return with a fielder’s 
glove and a bat. “What I really need is a pair of 
pillows,” he explained to Dick; “none of these 
heavy-weights have strength enough to hit a ball 
out into the mowing where we fielders trample the 
lovely wild flowers. Come along, old cotton 
battin’ !” 

In spite of his protest, he led the way along the 
shore, and then back along the edge of a corn field 
to an open pasture, the rest ambling along in their 
own good time. Dick, well to the rear, found him- 
self beside Ned Field. “Alex will make us prac- 
tice half an hour,” explained that worthy, “then 
some one’ll be able to start a game of numbers and 
we’ll have some real fun. But,” he sighed, “you and 
I’ll have to quit the game just when it gets good, 
and start for the Bray farm for the stuff I’ve 
ordered.” 

“Tell me where it is and I’ll go.” 

“The Wolves don’t do things that way, old hoss. 


74 THE BOY SCOUTS 

You’ll do your half of the work, all right, all right, 
but you’ll only do your half.” 

Dick nodded. “All right. I’m to be here so 
little that I sorter feel I oughter do all I can while 
I am here. Say,” he asked, after a moment, “don’t 
the farmers kick about you fellows wandering all 
over this stuff?” 

“Suppose they might, if we did. But we take 
mighty good care to keep out of any field we could 
hurt. We go out of our way to be decent to the 
people up here and, so far, they’ve paid us back by 
doing the same. This place hhead, where we play 
ball, just had its annual hair cut and Mr. Bray said 
we could do anything there we wanted to. He 
only cut the hay to give the sun a chance to ripen 
the rock crop.” 

Within ten minutes Dick had been made custodian 
of right field on the Wolf Patrol nine. “And the 
first thing you have to do,” Nelse Pease added to 
Cotton’s brief instructions, “is to tote six rocks 
from your position and pile ’em on that wall. It 


AT CAMP LOWELL 75 

helps Mr. Bray and it may save you from a broken 
neck.” 

Alex took his place at the plate to knock grounders 
and flies to his men. Harve Foster began to show 
signs of real life. It was surprising how well the 
fellows fielded on that rough ground. Even Tug 
caught a fly. 

The captain of the nine had almost made up his 
mind to smile, when a streak of yellow flashed past 
Joe Lowell at, short and went tearing toward center 
field. Tug emitted a wild yell of encouragement. 
Nick let out a whoop and left third at full speed. 
“Hec’s after something!” yelled Nelse. “It’s in 
the wall; I think I saw it duck. Must be a wood- 
chuck.” 

“He’s been after ’em for five years and never 
caught one,” protested Alex; “get back on the 
job.” 

“He’ll get this one,” cried Tug. “Lie’s in the 
open country now. I hope he doesn’t kill it,” he 
added. 


76 THE BOY SCOUTS 

Hec himself gave tongue as he flew. He seemed 
to feel that he had been out of the lime-light over- 
long and that his hour of triumph had struck. He 
caught a second fleeting glimpse of his quarry and 
lengthened his stride. “Go it!” shouted Nelse. 

“Come back here!” ordered Tug. 

But Hec, for once, was out of hand. Even 
Cotton started for the distant corner of the wall. 
The nine was strung across tjie field like a pack of 
hounds on a hot scent. Tug, torn between dread, 
and pride in his hound, ran as fast as he could, 
shouting, begging, pleading with Hec to stop be- 
fore he added murder in the first degree to his list 
of accomplishments. 

Twenty times they had seen woodchucks somer- 
sault into holes about two seconds ahead of fatal 
trouble. But now only a stone wall offered refuge. 
The animal appeared out of a tangle of briars, 
scrambled up onto the stones, turned to look over 
its shoulder at approaching fate. Nelse saw, slid 
to a stop, uftered a piercing yell. But Hec plunged 
on. Then it happened. 







<< 


yy 


BUT HEC PLUNGED ON 

















































































































































































AT CAMP LOWELL 


77 


First came a startled, then agonized, yelp .from 
the outraged Hec. For an instant he was paral- 
yzed. The next and Tug had him by the collar. 
The next and Tug, too, gave tongue. “Oh! Oh!” 
he wailed. “It’s a skunk!” 

Nelse Pease, rolling over and over on the ground, 
at last sat, up and held his nose. “Tell us some- 
thing we can’t hear,” he gurgled. 

“Beat it!” urged Flarve. “Good night!” He 
turned and fled. The whole field reeked with the 
fruits of Hec’s impetuosity. Even Tug deserted his 
loyal companion and started back toward the boys. 

“Get avay from me!” yelled Nelse. “You’re as 
bad as either of t,he others. Go drown yourself.” 

“But I haven’t done anything,” grieved Tug. 

“Then go do something,” commanded Nelse. 
“Go dig a hole and bury yourself. Go do any old 
thing, only do it six thousand miles from here.” 

“But I don’t like it any better than you do. It’s — 
it’s making me sick.” 

“It’s made me. Go away, I tell you! There’s 
a whole lake over there. Use it all. And take that 


78 THE BOY SCOUTS 

cologne hound with you. I don’t like you. I’ll bet 
it’s killed all his fleas,” he added hopefully. 

The thoroughly frightened and very sick Tug 
turned to his constant stand-by in time of trouble. 
“What’ll I do, Joe?” he gulped. 

“I dunno. Keep away from me mostly.” He 
caught the expression on the smaller lad’s face. 
“There’s a swamp down there,” he suggested; 
“why don’t you and Hec go and roll in it? Leave 
your clothes there and then go take a swim. I’ll 
collect something at camp for you to wear and 
bring it to you.” 

“Take him the kerosene an’ Harve’s hair oil an’ 
all the soap an’ some onions an’ the joss stick,” 
urged Nelse, “an’ don’t wait for us, Tuggie; go 
right along now. You’ve driven all the honey bees 
across the lake already.” 

“You fellows act like it was all my fault,” 
mourned Tug. “I’m not having a bit of fun; I’m 
gettin’ sicker an’ sicker.” 

“What do you think we’re doing?” demanded 
Fat; “hanging round to get up a testimonial for 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


79 


that honeysuckle hound of yours? If he was mine, 
I’d boil him in perfumery and feed him nothing but 
candied violets for a week. You go spoil the lake !” 

“Really, you’d better,” advised Joe kindly. “I’ll 
go get your things. It’s pretty thick around here 
for more ball. Even Alex’s getting kinder pale.” 

Hec, having recovered enough from the surprise 
to begin to appreciate himself, began to roll and 
whimper and then to roll some more. “He’s hav- 
ing a fit,” yelled Nick. 

“Do you blame him?” cried Nelse. “Stop him, 
Tug, before he gets it rubbed in good.” 

“But he doesn’t like it.” 

“Then he’s got more sense than he had five 
minutes ago,” was the unsympathetic rejoinder. 
“There’s a breeze over by the home plate; I’m go- 
ing to get into it and follow it a long way.” 

Three or four of the others were already run- 
ning away from there and Nick was aft,er them 
hardly before the words were out of his -mouth. 
“Come on, Dick,” he called over his shoulder. 

Dick, who had been watching Tug’s face, shook 


80 THE BOY SCOUTS 

his head. “Guess I’ll go help Tug/’ he said slowly. 

Ned Field, hearing, halted. “You get one more 
guess,” he stated. “Your job's to bring food to 
camp. There’re a heap more important things than 
kindhearledness to think about now. You come 
with me.” 

“He’s right,,” decreed Joe. “Two don’t make a 
crowd, generally, but I’ve a hunch that Tug and Hec 
are going to seem like a mob. Beat it! Tug, 
meet me at the swimming hole in ten minutes. 
Dick, you go along with Ned.” 

“But it’s too early.” 

“Any time’s too late to get out of this place,” 
declared Field. “We’ll go up and sit on the bee- 
hive at the Brays’ or do something equally peace- 
ful. I feel the need of a change. Come on.” 

Although his naturally kind heart had urged him 
to stay and attempt to comfort. Tug, he found go- 
ing away from that particular spot anything but a 
discomfort. Nor did Ned allow him to linger. “I 
like Hec,” the latter declared, as he finally dropped 
back into a walk; “he’s a mighty fine dog. But, 


AT CAMP LOWELL 81 

for t,he next week or so, I’m going to be able to get 
along a whole lot without his company.” 

“It wasn’t his fault,” declared Dick; “he thought 
it was a ’chuck.” 

“I dunno what he thought, and I’d hate to know 
what he’s thinking now, but I’m mighty sure of 
one thing, — he’s going to take a whole lot less 
interest in untamed Nature from now on. Let’s 
forget him as long as we can.” He turned into a 
path which led into the woods at the rear of the 
camp. “Know anything about following a trail, 
or tracks, or reading signs in t-the woods?” he 
asked. 

“A little. I’ve always liked to read books about 
such things. But I haven’t been able to get 
away from work to get into the woods much 
lately.” 

“The Wolves are rather good at that stuff,” 
Ned observed, wit,h a touch of pride. “We’ve 
pulled off one or two rather keen bits of work 
like — ” He stopped, his face growing scarlet. He 
remembered too late that the boy at his side had been 


82 THE BOY SCOUTS 

the cause of the Patrol’s greatest exploit in this 
direction. 

“I’ve heard Mr. Nelson tell how you fellows 
tracked that man in the Stone gang,” he said quietly. 
“It was fine. I wish — ” 

He, too, stopped. For a moment there was an 
uncomfortable silence. Then Ned, because he was 
that sort of fellow, took the plunge headlong. 
“See here,” he said, “every chap in the Patrol wants 
to forget some parts of that mess and you want 
to do what all the rest are doing. There wasn’t 
any argument about taking you in; there hasn’t 
been anything but pats on the back since we did 
get you; you’re all right and you’ll be righter if 
you’ll just forget you haven’t always been a Wolf. 
I’m no preacher and I’m not going to try to be 
one. I’ve had my say now and we’re going to call 
that part a day. If you’ve read a lot about trailing, 
why don’t you specialize in woodcraft and get your 
first merit badge in that?” 

“Could I?” 

“That’s up to you. You’ve got to accumulate 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


83 


a lot of ’em, if you’re going to do your full part 
for the honor of the Wolves. We’ve more merit 
badges than any other patrol in t,he Troop, and I 
guess you’re the sort who’ll do your share.” 

“I’ll try.” 

“Sure, you will!” 

“How’s the best way to do it?” 

Ned did not have to stop to think. “Get Mr. 
Steve to teach you,” he said. “What t,hat man 
doesn’t know about Scouting, ain’t. Besides that, 
he used to spend a lot of his time up in Northern 
Canada before the war, and he knows the big woods 
just about the way he knows his way around the 
Mayhew plant,” 

“Do you think he’d take the time?” 

“No, I don’t : I know he would. Isn’t he our 
Scout Master. All he’s got to do is to find out what 
you’re interested in, and then all you’ve got to do 
is work your head off to remember all the things 
he’ll tell and show you.” 

Dick considered this for a moment. It seemed 
beyond belief that Stephen Mayhew would bother 


84 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


to teach him things. He was still too new to 
Scouting to realize that the man would have spent 
much time in finding out what would interest him, 
had he not expressed an interest in some phase of 
the work. Mr. Steve was not a Scout Master 
because he liked the tit,le; he was one because he 
liked boys, and wanted to do all in his power 
to teach them useful things. ‘Til try not to 
make him tell me anything twice,” Dick promised. 

“You will, if you’ve any sense,” Ned chuckled. 
“He might do it once or twice, but then something 
would sorter happen so that the whole Patrol would 
get wise to the fact that you’d forgotten something 
you should have remembered. And they’d get wise 
to it in such a funny way that you’d find yourself 
at the hot end of a ripping old joke. And it’s no 
fun to have Mr. Steve lead the laugh on you. I’ve 
been there ; I know. He can be a good teacher, but 
he can laugh just as loud as any of the gang. That’s 
why we’d all get out and die for him any old time.” 

“If he’ll help me, I’ll try not to disappoint him,” 
Dick promised. 


CHAPTER V 


MR. STEVE TAKES A HAND 

Dick found that first visit to the Bray farm 
a thoroughly enjoyable affair. Mrs. Bray was not 
only motherly and jovial, but he gathered the idea, 
from watching the things she packed in the baskets 
for them, that she was about as good a cook as could 
be found in that, or any other, district. Ned in- 
sisted on paying cash for what they received, tell- 
ing her that it was a Wolf rule to pay as they went, 
and she took their money almost under protest, 
making them each take a handful of cookies to eat 
on the way back to camp. Her idea, she said, was 
to do all she could to make their summer pleasant, 
and her chief regret was that she had to charge them 
anything at all. Dick began to wonder if Scout- 
ing was all like this, if every one went out of his 
85 


86 THE BOY SCOUTS 

way to help a fellow. He had quite forgotten Han- 
son. 

In no particular need to get, back to camp, they 
took their time on the return trip. .Ned, remem- 
bering the conversation on woodcraft, started to 
teach his companion a few of the more simple signs 
of the trail. He did not spend more than two min- 
utes at it, however. That time was more than suffi- 
cient to show him that he should be the pupil. “If 
you’ve learned all this from books/’ he declared, 
“I’m going to eat about six when I get back to Gill- 
field.” 

“It’s about all theory,” Dick confessed. “I’ve 
never had much chance to try it out, though. 
Sometime I hope I’ll get a chance to go into the real 
woods.” 

“I’d want about ten guides with me,” Ned 
acknowledged. “The one thing I’ve had night- 
mares about is getting lost in the wilderness.” 

“You couldn’t really get lost, if you kept your 
head.” 

“Couldn’t I!” he laughed. “You don’t know 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


87 


one of two things, — the woods or my bean.’’ 

“All you've got, to do is keep the direction in 
your mind." 

“Sure! That’s all right in your theory stuff, 
but you’d find it a mighty different thing in 
one of those 'trackless forest’ things you read 
about.’’ 

“Honestly, Ned, I don’t think so.’’ 

“It would make a bully old debate,’’ he chuckled, 
“but I don’t see how we’re going to move any wil- 
derness here to prove you’re wrong.’’ 

“You don’t need a wilderness to prove I’m right.’’ 

Ned looked at him curiously. “I’m from Mis- 
souri,’’ he admitted; “come through.’’ 

“I might not be able to do it,’’ he said thought- 
fully. “Probably I couldn’t. But, if I could, it 
would prove a little of what I’ve said.’’ 

“If you’re no better at blazing a clear trail 
through the woods than you are through the English 
language, I’ll say you’re going to be a Tenderfoot 
for some centuries, old top. Whatcher mumbling 
about ?” 


88 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“I don’t know the way back to camp from 
here. We came across lots from the ball field. 
I can take you to camp, I think, on a direct 
line.” 

“Some stunt!” mocked Ned. “Shin a tree and 
you can see the camp.” 

“That’s true, t,oo.” He thought for a moment. 
“I’ll tell you what I’d like to do,” he said slowly, “I’d 
like to prove that direction’s an easy thing to keep 
in your mind and follow. You blindfold me and 
th^n take me by the hand and I’ll take you to camp. 
All you’ve got to do is face me directly at the camp 
after you’ve blindfolded me and then promise not 
to bunt me into any trees.” 

“You couldn’t do it in a month.” 

“I’ll do it in twenty minutes.” 

“See here, young feller-me-lad, about now’s 
where your bluff’s called good and plenty. You’re 
only a Tenderfoot and you’ve got to be taken down a 
few. You’re on! But, if you don’t deliver the 
goods, you do all my work from now until you 
go back to town Monday.” 


OF CAMP LOWELL 89 

“All right,” agreed Dick. “But, if I do deliver the 
goods, you do all mine.” 

“I’m game but not worried.” He took the scarf 
from about his neck. “The camp lies there,” he 
said, and pointed into the woods. “That is the bee 
line.” 

“That’s all I need to know. Put on the hanky.” 

He threw his head back and stood there while it 
was bound tight over his eyes. “I can’t see a thing,” 
he stated. “Can you carry both baskets. I don’t 
want to spill mine.” 

“We’ll cache ’em both here. It isn’t far and we 
can come back for ’em. Don’t want any handicaps.” 
He t,ook Dick’s burden and hung it on the branch 
of a tree, then put his own on one near by. 
“Ready?” 

“If you’re going to make this test at all worth 
while, spin me around a few times and try to mix 
me up.” 

“You’re crazy,” declared the amazed Ned. 

“Maybe. Only I don’t want a guilty conscience 
when I see you doing my job.” 


90 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“Don’t you worry about such little things, Tender- 
foot. But you need taking down, so you’re going to 
get took. Here goes!” He grabbed him by the 
shoulder and turned him rapidly, first one way, then 
the other, until he not only believed that Dick had 
not the remotest idea which way he was facing, but 
was rather more than sure he was decidedly dizzy. 
“Hike!” he commanded at last. “Here’s my hand. 
I’ll stop you before you collide with anything and 
tell you to stop before you can trip. I’ll also in- 
form you about the footing and I’ll stop you be- 
fore we get too far from camp for comfort.” 

The blindfolded boy only nodded. His head was 
still thrown back. Slowly he began t,o turn from 
the direction in which Ned had faced him. Once 
he hesitated, took a forward step, then turned a 
little more. “We’ll go this direction instead of 
yours,” he said, at last. 

“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” It was frank tribute. 
Hunt was facing directly toward the camp. And he 
went to the very steps on the building on as direct a 
line as his stumbling feet would permit. When 


AT CAMP LOWELL 91 

Ned removed the bandage, he held out his hand. 
“You’re a wonder!” he declared. “How on earth’d 
you do it?” 

“Easy enough. Followed my face.” 

“Naturally. You didn’t walk backward.” 

“I mean the wind on it. I marked the way the 
breeze struck my face when you told me where the 
camp was. I kept my face into it as we came here. 
You really can’t get lost in the woods, if you keep 
your head.” 

“What if the wind changes?” 

“You go back and get those baskets,” 
laughed Dick. “You’ll have to earn that infor- 
mation, too.” 

Ned, being a Wolf, accepted his defeat with a 
grin and went back alone for the supplies. But he 
had his own good-natured revenge by making the 
over-modest Dick squirm when he told the rest 
about the affair while they were killing time before 
supper. 

“You’re an easy mark to fall for such stuff,” de- 
clared Fat Foster. “The Tenderfoot didn’t follow 


92 THE BOY SCOUTS 

any balmy breeze. He knew Hec was here and 
just followed his nose.” 

“Hec isn’t, very bad now,” protested Tug, above 
the general roar. 

“Maybe not, son,” drawled Fat, “maybe not. 
But he isn’t exactly what you’d term a bunch of 
sweet peas yet. I’ll bet I can find him blind- 
folded if you start us ten miles apart. Hello, 
who’s that?” 

One or two turned languidly to glance up the 
rough lane. The next instant all were on their feet. 
“Three cheers for Mr. Steve!” shouted Joe. 

The man waved acknowledgment as he came on, 
then sat down on the steps. “Am I too late for 
supper?” he asked. 

“Should say not! Hi, Stan!” Joe called. “Mr. 
Steve’s here, so see- if you can boil him an egg with- 
out burning it on both sides.” 

“Hello, Chief !” Nick, too, stuck his head through 
the kitchen window and grinned a welcome. “Will 
you have your bacon a la Newburg or with cabbage 
on the side?” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 93 

“En casserole,” laughed Mr. Steve. “And fry my 
coffee en brochette.” 

“One pig in a pan and coffee with chilblains,” 
ordered Stan. “Give us ten minutes more.” 

“You ought to get ten days for the lunch we 
had,” growled Nelse. “Open a can of beans; we’ve 
got to eat to-night.” 

The increasing din from the kitchen held forth 
a promise of real work for them all within a short 
time. “What brought you down here on the hoof, 
sir?” asked Nelse. “Bubble bust?” 

“No. Left it at the head of the lane so 
it wouldn’t. Need a bit of exercise, anyway, 
seem to be getting fat, sitting at a desk so much.” 

“Come up here for a week,” blurted Tug. 

Joe Lowell turned on him with a quick frown. 
“He’s going to t,he sea shore for his vacation,” he 
said, for the second time. “We’re not going to 
gum his game this summer by teasing till he comes 
to us.” 

“Wouldn’t take much teasing, Joe,” laughed 
Stephen Mayhew, settling himself more comfort- 


94 THE BOY SCOUTS 

ably and looking in real content. “This is a good 
place and I’m rather thinking you chaps need a 
bit; of looking after.” 

“What’s wrong now?” There v/as real anxiety 
in Cotton’s voice for once. 

“Dunno, Alex. That’s one of the things I came 
up to find out about.” 

Like a flash they were all attention. Even the 
vaguest hint of disapproval from the Scout Master 
troubled them, and there was more than hint in his 
sober tone. “What is it, sir?” asked Joe. 

“I don’t suppose it’s really anything, fellows, 
but, in justice to all concerned, I thought I’d better 
get the other side of the story. Hanson came to the 
office this afternoon and said that our truck had run 
into his team and, that, after the smash, one of you 
threw a rock at one of his horses and cut it. Said 
he wanted a hundred dollars damages at once or he’d 
sue father. Burke says it’s all a lie.” 

“How about it, Dick?” asked Lowell. “You 
were with Burke.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 95 

“It is a lie,” he stated evenly, “every word of it. 
I—” 

“That’s enough,” broke in Mr. Mayhew. “The 
word of a Wolf needs no embellishment, old man. 
But I’m going to tell you all right now that you’ve 
got to be mighty careful with that man Hanson and 
how you handle him. He’s bad medicine and he’s 
evidently out to make trouble. None of the far- 
mers up here like him and none here, or in Gill- 
field, have the remotest idea why he goes out of his 
way to bother my father. We never heard of him 
before he moved here and,” he finished with a sigh, 
“we wish he’d never come.” 

“Of all crazy lies, that tale of his about Dick is 
the limit,” exploded Nelse. “Dick couldn’t hit 
a horse with a rock. We’ve had him trying to play 
ball ; we know.” 

Mr. Steve smiled. “See that you’re able to joke 
about everything Hanson springs,” he warned. 
“He’s a bad actor. I believe I’ll take a swim be- 
fore supper,” he said abruptly. “Anybody game?” 


96 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“I’ve only been in twice,” announced Nelse. 
‘Til go and Tug’s got to.” 

Three others were more than willing volunteers 
but, as they rose, Dick Hunt hung back and moved 
toward Joe, who had frankly owned he was too lazy 
to go in again. For several moments they sat in 
silence, looking toward the lake. Joe knew the 
other had something on his mind, but knew 
the best thing to do was to let him get it off in his 
own way. 

It came at length and with a rush. “Do you 
think he thinks I started anything with Hanson?” 

“Did he say so?” came the quiet question. 

“No.” 

“Don’t you think he’s the sort who says what he 
thinks?” 

“I suppose he is.” 

“Don’t you know he is ?” 

“Yes.” 

“See here, Dick,” Joe said, after a little pause, 
“you seem to forget that you’re one of us and that, 
if you make a statement, that statement goes. That 


AT CAMP LOWELL 97 

holds for Mr. Steve as much as for the fellows. 
We trust each other absolutely and we’ve never had 
cause to do anything else. We’d stand by each 
other through anything and I think now that 
the Old Boss would stand behind us just 
as firmly as would Mr. Steve. You’ve an- 
swered his question squarely and he’s forgotten 
everything but your answer. And he knew your 
answer was going to be just what it was. He only 
asked in order to give you a chance to clear your- 
self, as any real man would do. It was your right 
to be heard and he saw you had your rights. Now 
forget it. You’ll never get anywhere at all if you 
go round thinking that perhaps some of us don’t 
believe all you say. This kind of talk bores me 
stiff. Come on down and watch the bunch swim.” 

It was all very well for Joe to say such things, and 
Dick did his best to believe them ; but a boy who has 
gone through what he had finds it most difficult to 
comprehend that people have banished suspicion and 
enthroned friendship. The more he tried to forget it 
all, the more he wondered why, if Mr. Steve be- 


98 THE BOY SCOUTS 

lieved none of the charges Hanson had made, he had 
come rushing up t,o camp to face him with the 
matter. He knew his weakness had nearly been 
fatal to the Mayhew plant during the war ; he could 
well see how the Mayhews could still view him with 
distrust. Joe might say what he liked but Dick 
still believed, in his supersensitive way, that he 
could see the other side of the shield. 

He tried his best to enter into the hilarious fun 
about the supper table but, for the first time, had 
a sickening sensation in his heart that he was an out- 
sider to it all. He almost wished he had not come; 
he began to wonder could he find an excuse to go 
back to Gillfield in the morning, rather than wait 
for Monday’s dawn. 

Stephen Mayhew would not have held the place 
which was his in all their hearts had he not been 
one of these very few men who understand boys, 
because able to put himself in their place, to see 
things with the eyes of the boy he had never for- 
gotten he had been but a few years ago. Dick 
Hunt was still the unknown quantity to him. He 


AT CAMP LOWELL 99 

approved of his having been taken into the Wolves 
but, far more than Commissioner Nichols, he ap- 
preciated that, the boy’s path was not to be lined en- 
tirely with primroses. Nor would he have had it 
so. Such a circumstance would not bring out the 
good he was sure was in Dick. He knew little 
things would worry the boy, and that, boylike, he 
would be prone to make mountains out of mole 
hills. Therefore, as he saw him grow more and 
more quiet, he watched him the more closely. And, 
as he watched, he began to sense the situation. 

But he was not a man to make sudden moves 
which might betray his intentions. After leaving 
the table, he spent half an hour with them all play- 
ing catch before the camp and then, as if it were a 
necessity just recalled, abruptly threw his glove onto 
the veranda; “I’d like nothing better than to loaf 
round here the rest of the evening,” he announced, 
“but I’ve got to get back to town and, before I go, 
I’ve got, to see Mr. Bray. Why don’t two or three 
of you, who’ve nothing better to do, stroll up there 
with me? We can come back by the road and I’ll 


100 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


pick my car up where I left it, and then the body- 
guard can come back to camp with a sense of duty 
well done and the absolute certainty that no 
night stalking chipmunk has bitten me on the 
hind leg.” 

“Take Hec and nothing’ll dare go near you,” 
suggested Nelse. 

“I’ve got to go back to Gillfield, son. I love the 
memory of Hec, but I’m not yearning to be re- 
minded of him fragrantly for the next forty-eight 
hours. But, for your kindly thought, you’re chosen 
one of the bodyguard. You need the exercise; 
you’re getting fat.” 

“Oh, gee ! I’ve walked seven hundred and ’steen 
miles already.” Nelse did his best to look down- 
cast but he made a dive for his coat. “Who else 
gets roasted?” 

Mr. Steve chuckled. “It’s fine to be popular,” 
he observed. “So long as there’re so many eager 
volunteers, let’s give the Tenderfoot first chance. 
How about it, Dick?” 

“I’d like to go, sir.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 101 

“Then come on. Anything I can do for you in 
town, fellows ?” 

“Guess not.” 

“Bring yourself up to-morrow.” 

“Tell our people we’re still alive, if you see any 
of ’em.” 

“I’ll see most of them in church in the morning. 
Maybe I’ll drive up in the afternoon. Take care 
of yourselves. And, say, Tug, I’ll bring the cat up, 
if you think it will occupy ITec round camp.” 

“Never mind the cat, sir,” laughed the little fel- 
low gamely ; “but you might slip my mother the tip 
that my wardrobe is mostly missing by request and 
that I could use some more clothes.” 

“I’ll do that thing. Don’t eat any poison ivy, 
fellows, and don’t go swimming more than six times 
to-morrow. Too much water wears off the skin, 
you know. Good night. Come on, you two grit- 
hitters !” 

He swung off into the path through the woods 
at a pace which made Nelse realize that his con- 
fession of weariness had not been all joke. “Say,” 


102 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


he wailed, “I’m perfectly willing to get to the Brays’ 
this evening, but what’s the idea in trying to arrive 
there this afternoon?” 

Mr. Steve grinned as he slowed up a trifle. “I 
keep forgetting how delicate you are, Nelse,” he 
apologized. “Want us to carry you? We can 
make a lady’s chair.” 

“Go to it!” he agreed promptly. 

“Are you game, Dick?” 

“I’m trying to be game but I’m not foolish, sir. 
He’d let us do it.” 

“First bluff called,” declared Nelse in triumph. 

“And here’s where the second starts,” was the 
instantaneous rejoinder. ‘I need exercise.” He 
broke into a swinging trot, at which Nelse uttered 
a loud wail, then started after him. 

“I’ve got blisters on both heels,” he laughed, 
“but you can’t last, long enough to raise any on my 
lungs.” 

“We’ll see about that, old chap; I’m not as soft 
as you think.” 

It was a test which Dick remembered for a long 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


103 


time but he kept up gamely, although he was puff- 
ing like a grampus when they came to a halt at the 
Brays’ back door. “I’ll say I’d hate to tackle you 
when you were in condition,” acknowledged Nelse. 
“You aren’t even gasping, sir.” 

“You aren’t exactly a wreck yourself,” was the 
quick retort. “Dick can stand a bit more outdoor 
work, though.” 

“I’m — I’m all — right.” He sat down on the step 
and held his stabbing side. “Keepin’ books — doesn’t 
im — prove th’ — wind.” 

“Something in that. Oh, Mr. Bray!” 

The door opened and a gaunt, smooth faced 
farmer appeared in his shirt sleeves. “Hello, Mr. 
Mayhew!” he said heartily. “What brings you up 
here this time of night? Anything wrong?” 

“No. Been down at the camp for supper. Just 
dropped in to tell you your friend Hanson’s on the 
rampage again.” 

“He’s no friend of mine. What’s he up to 
now ?” 

Mr. Steve gave him a brief outline on the charge 


104 THE BOY SCOUTS 

Hanson had made. “Hunt, here, who was on our 
truck with our man, says it’s not so and Burke 
agrees with him. Naturally I’d believe the people 
I trust, even if I didn’t know Hanson. But that 
hasn’t much to do with what I want to find out. 
It’s why he seems to have a grudge against any- 
thing connected with the Mayhew name.” 

“Haven’t the remotest idea. Ever since he 
moved onto the hill farm, lie’s had it in for every- 
one. When it isn’t one thing, it’s another. Some- 
thing’s always wrong. He acts half cracked.” 

“Know anything about his history or where he 
came from?” 

“Not a thing,” admitted the farmer. 

“We’d buy the place and get rid of him, if he 
hadn’t a three-year lease on it. What I’m really 
afraid of is that he’s going to bother the boys down 
at camp. They’ll leave him alone, but we’re a little 
anxious lest he try to get at us through them. You 
fellows,” he said, turning to the boys, “can forget 
all about what you’re hearing. I’m talking to Mr. 
Bray alone.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


105 


“Want us to get out ?” 

“Not a bit of it, Nelse.” 

“The boys have been up here too much for any 
white man to believe anything against them,” de- 
clared Mr. Bray. “We farmers like to have ’em at 
tpe lake. They’ve helped — ” He stopped and 
looked over his shoulder. Mr. Steve, too, heard the 
rattle of the approaching team. A moment more 
and it had turned into the yard. “Wonder who’s 
coming here to-night?” muttered Bray. 

The raw-boned horse was driven close to the 
little group before being jerked to a halt. “Be that 
ye, Bray?” demanded a rough voice. 

“Yes.” 

“Um! Who be with ye?” 

“Friends o’ mine.” 

The man leaned further from the buggy to peer 
into the darkness. Then came an explosive ex- 
clamation. “I’ll be goin’.” And he yanked sav- 
agely on the reins. 

But, before the old horse could start, Stephen 
Mayhew had caught the bridle. “As long as you’re 


106 THE BOY SCOUTS 

here, Hanson,” he stated quietly, “you’d better stay 
a moment; I want to talk with you.” 

“Don’t want nothin’ to do with you, nor any 
other Mayhew.” 

“You’ve changed since afternoon; you were look- 
ing for one of us then, I understand.” 

“All I wants is my rights an’ I’m goin’ to have 
’em. Leave go that bridle !” 

“In good time,” Mr. Mayhew agreed calmly. 
“What was your idea in coming to our office with a 
cock and bull story about being damaged by our 
truck and assaulted by one of these boys?” 

“Too late to find that out now. That boy thar’s 
makin’ trouble fer me. I’ll get him. An’ ye can 
settle in court, ye Mayhews. I seen my lawyer.” 

“There are lawyers who’ll take most any case, I 
presume,” Mr. Mayhew said, with a grim smile. 
“But now, while we’re man to man, with no lawyers 
present and only good and disinterested witnesses, 
I want to tell you one thing and have you remember 
it : all those boys down at the lake are to be let 
alone. They are on our property; they are under 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


107 


our protection. They are not looking for trouble; 
they will make no trouble. If there should be 
trouble, and it is beyond their power to take care of 
themselves, there are people who are ready to do it 
for them. Do you understand that?” 

“I didn’t come here to be preached at an’ threat- 
ened by no Mayhew.” 

“What you came for is none of my business; 
what you’ve been told is very much mine. I’m glad 
to have had the chance to make it clear. It’s hands 
off for you, Hanson ! Good night. Come on, 
boys.” 


CHAPTER VI 


DICK HUNT STRIKES OUT 

Dick’s long months of self-probation had re- 
acted upon him far differently than he appreciated. 
Instead of giving him t,he self-confidence and as- 
surance he had supposed were his, these hoped-for 
shields were vulnerable defenses when he came to 
put them to the test. Stephen Mayhew had done 
all a man could do to show his trust in him, but 
long weeks without companionship had left Dick 
morbid to some extent. He realized people had 
tried to help him, had trusted him in positions of 
responsibility, but he had the weakness of many 
other sensitive boys, — he doubted himself. 

Why, he did not know. All that he could think 
of was that some one “was down on him” again. 
That this “some one” was a man apparently so un- 
reasonable and pugnacious as Hanson, mattered 


108 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


109 


nothing at all. The great and outstanding fact was 
that he thought himself again suspected of some- 
thing. His sufferings under his former trial had 
been so overwhelming that now he could only re- 
member them and dread what was to come. 

All day Sunday he did his best to take a full- 
hearted share in the activities of the Wolves. The 
boys had no idea that anything was preying on him. 
If they gave his rather quiet demeanor a thought, 
it was only to lay it to the fact that he was new to 
the Patrol and unexplainably slow in finding him- 
self. They laughed away his tentative suggestion 
that he return to Gillfield that evening instead of 
early Monday morning and, because he could find 
no valid excuse to go, he stuck it out until dawn. 
But then he stole out of the camp and started the 
long hike without waiting for anything to eat, or 
waking any one to say good-by. Only Hec was 
awake, but Dick found real comfort in the dog’s de- 
light at finding some one willing to be friends with 
him. 

Yet, as the week aged, each day away from Camp 


110 THE BOY SCOUTS 

Lowell passed more slowly. He wanted to be with 
the fellows once more and began to think he had 
made a very large mountain out of something not 
much bigger than an ant hill. He even hunted up 
Bill Long of t,he Fox Patrol with the idea of sound- 
ing him about that ball game. It proved a differ- 
ent sort of sound. Bill went off like a three- 
alarm. 

“Are we going up there!” he demanded. “Does 
a squirrel like a nut ? Ask me ! I dare you to ask 
me.” 

“I have, haven’t I ? The fellows want to know.” 

Bill laughed. “They know,” he retorted. 
“Only they don’t know how sorry they’re going to 
be. We’ll do ’em up so brown they’ll get lost in 
the pine needles and other trash.” 

“The Wolves can play ball.” 

“They’ll need to,” asserted Bill. “The Foxes 
haven’t been beaten but twice this year.” 

“Only twice?” 

“Well,” owned Bill, “maybe it was three times. 
But the umpire was rotten in that last game.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 111 

“You won’t have even that excuse this time. 


How are you going to get to the lake?” 

“Most of us have bikes; guess we can borrow 
enough more.” 

“Yes, and arrive all tired out and have nothing 
up your sleeves but an alibi.” 

“All right,” grunted Bill; “then take us up in a 
pair of your private limousines.” 

“Maybe I will.” 

“We won’t stick around waiting for you unless it 
rains. Got anything really interesting on your 
mind?” 

“Might have.” 

“Funny things always are happening,” Bill 
admitted. “If anything has bored into the 
personal ivory, take it out and give it a breath of 
air.” 

“I’m supply officer for the camp,” Dick admitted 
diffidently. 

“They don’t much care what happens to ’em, do 
they ?” 

“And I’m planning to have a lot of stuff go up 


112 THE BOY SCOUTS 

by Mr. Steve’s truck Saturday morning,” Dick went 
on. 

“Here, hold up!” yelled Bill. “Go slow, now. 
You’re showin’ traces of sense. Don’t get all tan- 
gled up in yourself.” 

“And I didn’t know but Mr. Steve would let us 
have one of the bigger trucks so’s there’d be room 
for all you chaps to ride.” 

“Nothin’ doin’, son!” declared Bill promptly. 
“We’re Scouts, not sponges. The Foxes don’t 
beg.” 

“Neither do the Wolves. Don’t you get, any 
ideas like that. One of your worst bits of hard luck 
is that you haven’t got Mr. Steve for a Scout Mas- 
ter. You leave it to me.” 

It sounded so attractive that Bill wavered. “Sup- 
pose you may know something about your own busi- 
ness,” he generously admitted. “But don’t you get 
the Foxes in wrong. We don’t ask favors.” 

“That’s one reason I want to send you up by 
freight. We don’t want any excuses after you’re 
licked. The Wolves know how to take care of 


AT CAMP LOWELL 113 

their guests. You just leave things to me and have 
your crowd ready to start when I say.” 

“When’ll you say?” 

“Try to get word to you early to-morrow.” 

“I’m goin’ to be down town,” offered Bill. “I’ll 
drop in at the bank and save you the trouble of 
lookin’ for me. So long now ! I’m busy. Got to 
give the canary its singing lesson.” With which 
he bolted for the back door, fearful lest his good 
luck desert him before he could get to safety. Any- 
thing was better than pushing a bicycle up to For- 
est Lake ; few things would be better than an auto- 
mobile ride with the rest of the Foxes. 

Nor did Dick, full of his new idea, stand around 
to allow any crops to become harvestable beneath 
his shoes. On the chance of finding Mr. Steve still 
at his desk, he headed for the Mayhew plant and did 
not begin to appreciate that he had taken the bit in 
his teeth until he found himself face to face, not 
only with Mr. Steve, but with the Old Boss. 

“Well ?” exploded the latter promptly, eyeing the 
hard-breathing lad from beneath bushy brows. 


114 THE BOY SCOUTS 

“What did Nelson send you up here so fast about? 
Stephen overdrawn his account ?” 

Dick knew how well nigh impossible that would 
be, so gathered that Mr. Mayhew was joking 
with him. “Guess I’ve overdrawn mine,” he 
gulped. 

He saw Stephen Mayhew start, and his own face 
went scarlet. “I don’t mean anything like that,” 
he explained hastily. “Honestly, I’m all right. 
Only I’ve made a mess of things, I guess.” 

The Old Boss snorted as if both angry and thor- 
oughly disgusted. “Sit down and tell us about it,” 
he ordered in a voice he intended to sound exceed- 
ingly gruff and forbidding. “Be surprised if any 
boy in Gillfield ever did anything but make messes 
of everything. What have you done?” 

Dick had learned one thing, at least. Nothing 
was to be gained by holding anything back. “I’ve 
told some of the fellows, who are going up to camp 
to visit to-morrow, that I thought you an’ Mr. 
Steve’d lend us a machine to take us all up in.” 

“You have, have you? Umph!” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 115 

“I was planning to send the little truck with 
supplies for the kids, Father.” 

“Oh, you were, were you !” 

“I were,” grinned the son. 

“Don’t see why I hang around this office. I 
don’t own it; I don’t have anything to say about it.” 
He wheeled on Dick. “You need a lesson, young 
man,” he rumbled; “you’re too free with other 
people’s things. You can’t have my truck to trans- 
port all Gillfield up to the lake. What’d those boys 
want to visit the camp for, anyway?” 

“We challenged them to come up and play ball,” 
gulped Dick. 

“Did, did you? How’d you get down Monday 
morning?” 

“Walked, sir.” 

“Aren’t they as strong as you ?” 

“Guess so, sir.” 

“Don’t you know so? Stop guessing! What 
you goin’ to do, now you can’t truck ’em up ?” 

“I haven’t — haven’t decided, sir. I thought most 
prob’ly Mr. Steve would say it was all right.” 


116 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“Most, prob’ly he would have. He doesn’t own 
that truck, either.” 

Dick turned to Stephen Mayhew as if for help in 
his hour of need but he was looking out of a win- 
dow. He knew his father; he had an idea that 
Dick was going to. “All right, sir,” said the boy 
gamely. “I’ll go tell Long right away that I had 
no business to suggest such a thing.” 

“Do that, would you?” 

“Why, of course, sir. It’s my fault.” 

“Wouldn’t tell him the Mayhews were stingy with 
their trucks?” 

“You’re not.” 

“Don’t try to get round me by flattery, boy!” 
roared the Old Boss. “I won’t stand it. You 
can’t have that truck. I’ve said so and I keep my 
word.” 

“I understand, sir. Good afternoon.” 

“Here, wait a minute! What time’s that ball 
game?” 

“About two, I guess, sir.” 

“Don’t you know? I told you not to guess.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 117 

“I don’t know how long it will take us to walk up ; 
I can only guess.” 

“I will be obeyed in my own office. That game 
is at two o’clock. There are two touring cars in 
my garage; Stephen will drive one, my chaffeur the 
other. They will leave this office at twelve noon, 
to-morrow. They will take any one who happens to 
be here at twelve to Camp Lowell. But I will not 
have my trucks running round loose. Now get out 
of here! Both of you,” he roared as he wheeled 
on his laughing son. “I’m boss of this office still. 
Get out!” 

Dick went. He also went home in Mr. Steve’s 
runabout, wondering how he had ever managed to 
revive the idea that every hand was turned against 
him. It. did not occur to him that he had done far 
more for others than for himself. His mind was 
full of the fun the Wolves were going to be able to 
give their guests. It was all he could do not to ask 
Mr. Steve to drive round by Bill’s house so that he 
could spread the good news at once. 

But Bill, in the morning, proved some worthy 


118 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


little spreader. The Foxes were quite keen about 
Dick Hunt. Not one of them thought he had done 
them personal injury by providing real cars for the 
trip, and not one admitted that he would have pre- 
ferred to have ridden a bicycle to the lake. In 
fact, they were so anxious to show they had only t,he 
kindest of feelings for him, that they camped on 
the steps of the Mayhew office building at eleven- 
thirty. 

Nor had this enthusiasm decreased when they ar- 
rived at Camp Lowell a little after twelve- thirty. 
The Wolves met them with a yell of welcome. 
Dick himself felt almost like a guest of honor until 
Ned Field grabbed him by the arm. “ Where’s the 
stuff you were going to bring?” he demanded. 

“Coming up this afternoon with Burke. Wasn’t 
room for it all. Did you need any of it this noon? 

“If I had, what good would it do me? That 
bunch wouldn’t eat excuses and we’ve got to fill 
’em full of food, if we’re going to beat ’em. Full 
to the front teeth,” he added. 


“Is that fair?” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


119 

‘They’ll say so,” grinned Ned. “I’ve toted a 
big freezer of ice cream down from the Bray place. 
We’re going to picnic on the steps. You’re a 
waiter. Report to Stan.” 

Dick found Tug and Nick already busy carrying 
plates of sandwiches to the veranda. Harve was 
sitting on the railing watching the proceedings with 
eager eyes. “I thought there was a ham,” he said 
at last. 

“What’d you think’s in these sandwiches?” 
growled Nick. 

Fat gazed at the thick allurements. “They look 
like little samples to me,” he confessed. “Hi, Bill, 
come up here and sit by me!” 

“I’m going to get nearer the door,” laughed 
Long. 

“Going to have hot coffee, too?” asked Mr. Steve, 
staring at the tray full of cups Stan bore from the 
kitchen. 

“Sure!” 

“Betcher !” echoed Harve. “Need something hot 
with ice cream. It thaws the throat so’s you can 


120 THE BOY SCOUTS 

swallow easier. Come on, Foxes; eat hearty. You 
won’t feel like eating to-night.” 

They went at the piles of food without further 
urging, Stephen Mayhew helping the Wolves in see- 
ing that their guests were properly cared for and 
doing his full share toward keeping the laughter un- 
der full st, earn. Bill Long, after his third plate of 
ice cream, stretched his arms over his head. 
“Seems a crime to play ball on a day like this,” he 
announced. 

“Kind of ball you ginks can play probably is 
one,” comforted Nelse. “We might as well beat 
you so we can go swimming and have some real 
fun.” 

“You’ll be too worn out from shagging hits to 
want to swim,” prophesied Bill. “Where do you 
keep your diamond ?” 

“Best way to find that out,” suggested Joe, “is 
to come-see.” 

“Does a jitney run t,hat way?” queried Eben 
Wilder, who had done his best to equal Harve’s ice- 
cream record. “Something tells me that, if it’s 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


121 


more than a mile, I’m not going to live long.” He 
reached for the fielder’s glove on the steps at his 
side. “Any one remember to bring a ball?” 

“Hope some of you did,” growled Nelse. “Hec’s 
chewed four of ours into pulp. Come on, Bill ! I’ll 
lead you by the hand and take care no blue jay 
scares you to death.” 

“How about all these cups and saucers?” yelled 
Stan from the kitchen. “Don’t be in such a glad- 
some rush.” 

“Oh, heave ’em into the lake and let ’em soak,” 
advised Harve. 

“Finish ’em up and bring your kitchen crew as 
soon as you can,” ordered Mr. Steve. “We’ll go 
slowly.” 

“You bet!” declared Harve. “Eb and I have a 
date to race an inch worm through the woods. And 
don’t leave my cup full of soap again, Stan,” he 
called. 

“If you feel that way,” chuckled Joe, “stay and 
help with the job.” 

For an instant Flarve caught his eye. “Sure!” 


122 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


he agreed. ‘‘Trot along, Eb. The Royal Order of 
Benevolent Dishrag Artists has got to hold a lodge 
meeting. Well catch up before you get much of 
anywhere.” And he darted into the kitchen. 

Dick, too, stayed behind to give a helping hand 
and, when the camp had been policed, swung off 
into the woods at the heels of t,he other three, as 
anxious as they to reach the scene of what they 
proposed should be a massacre. As they vaulted 
the rail fence which enclosed the ball field, Long was 
in loud voiced argument with Lowell. “Maybe it 
is all you say,” he protested, “but I still claim it 
should be as far from first to second as it is from 
second to third. Second base is about ten feet too 
far south.” 

“If you like the idea of sliding through those 
blackberry bushes, move it,” Joe assented. “We’ve 
been sorter tender with our hides so far.” 

“We’ve all got. on leggings.” 

“Sure ! But you don’t know as much about 
brambles as you do about landscape gardening. 
We’ll move it, though, if you’ll be happier.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


123 


Bill, having carried his point, strolled out to look 
over the mat of blackberry runners. “Never mind,” 
he agreed ; “we’d rather give you the advantage of 
home grounds. Why don’t we begin? Your kit- 
chen ladies have arrived. Will Mr. M'ayhew um- 
pire ?” 

“Sure!” 

“All right. Play ball, then. We’re at bat, I 
suppose. Get your men in position.” 

“Ready, fellows?” Joe ran across the rough field 
to short and held up his hand for Wood, the 
catcher, to throw him the ball. For a minute the 
Wolf infield did a little fancy throwing which made 
Long grunt. Then he turned to his own men. 
“We’ve got to play ball,” he announced. “Go to 
it! You’re up, Eb.” 

Eben Wilder faced Cotton. “Say good-by to 
that ball, Alex,” he grinned. “I’m going to lose it 
out in the hay.” He waved his bat at Tug, in 
deep center, where there was more sweet fern than 
grass. “She’s coming your way, Tuggie; don’t 
trip over the scenery.” 


124 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“Strike one!” called Mr. Steve. 

“Say, toss ’em, Alex,” yelled Ed. “I’m no 
lightning rod to connect with that stuff.” 

But Cotton was far from sinking his teeth into 
that form of bait. He knew Eb of old and he put 
all he had on the next ball. The batter grinned 
cheerfully and let it pass. “Ball one!” declared Mr. 
Steve. 

“Guess I’ll walk,” said Eb; “it’s a lot more com- 
fortable.” 

“Guess you’ll pop a fly to short,” corrected Stan, 
beating his fist into his mit. “That would be a 
lot more like you. Right into the ole glove, Alex!” 

Cotton again wound up. This time lie tried to 
cut the corner. It was ball two. He shook his 
head at the next signal. He wanted to strike Eb 
out. Stan called for a high, fast one; Alex nodded 
and began his swing. 

The next moment there was a sharp crack and 
Eb was racing to first as Ni'ck Reed lunged for the 
liner which flashed past him into left field. Ney, 
the Fox second baseman, -strolled up to the plate as 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


125 


unconsciously at if such a clean-cut hit was nothing 
more than mere routine. ‘'Smear one into center, 
Ted,” ordered Bill. 

“Center? Oh, all right.” H*e swung his bat and 
glanced at Alex. 

But Cotton’s pride was injured quite as much as 
his reputation. He was not accustomed to have his 
offerings greeted with such enthusiasm. He knew 
Ney could hit and he began to work with greater 
care. He fooled him once, then teased him into 
swinging at a wide one. The next two he deliber- 
ately wasted. As he wound up again, Eb edged 
away from first. Alex was watching him from 
the corner of his eye. Like a flash he wheeled and 
threw to Field. It was too low. Ned stretched as 
far as he could, but the ball hit a hummock, bounded 
off at right angles and Eb dashed for second, then 
kept on to third. 

“Never mind,” Joe called. “We’ll have a steam 
roller here next year.” 

“Tough luck!” sympathized Ed. “But it’s going 
to be just as fair for the Wolves.” 


126 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“Don’t wish you any hard luck,” Joe grinned, 
“but I hope every ball we swat hits a bowlder. Get 
this gink, Alex.” 

Cotton, who knew that he, and not the scenery, 
was responsible for the error, nodded. He sent a 
floater up to Ney. The batter tried to smash it. 
A little pop fly sailed out to Nelse. “All mine!” 
the second baseman triumphed, and ambled over to 
get under it. 

But he overlooked luxuriant Nature. His feet 
slipped into those blackberry bushes. He tripped, 
went headlong. “Ouch!” he yelled as the ball hit 
him flush between the shoulders. One run was in 
and Ney was safe at first. Even Mr. Steve was 
laughing. “Say,” cried Nelse, “if that had been a 
bed of four-leaved clovers, I’d never have stepped 
on one. Never mind, Alex, we’ll get some one out 
sometime.” 

The inning would have been less disastrous had 
Tug not muffed a fly which fell squarely into his 
glove. As it was, the Wolves went to bat with a 
lead of six runs to overcome and the first discovery 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


127 


they made was that Jack Swift could pitch. It 
soon dawned over even Dick Hunt that they were 
staring defeat between the eyes. They had expected 
a close game; they had had no idea of being on the 
wrong end of a Roman holiday. They managed 
to get one run, but that was due to a friendly 
rock near short rather than superior batting 
ability. 

Cotton began the second more steadily. He knew 
now that the hope of the Wolves lay with him. He 
must keep the Foxes from hitting. His reputation 
as a pitcher was already badly dented. He wanted 
to rescue that. But he wanted, even more, to have 
Camp Lowell emerge victorious. He became more 
deliberate and his fast one began to smoke. A Fox 
did reach second but he was still there when the 
inning closed. 

The Wolves got another run in their half. They 
held the Foxes again in the third. Dick Hunt came 
up to open the last half. He drew a base on balls. 
Harve Foster went to bat with visions of grabbing 
Babe Ruth’s crown. “Leave the cover on the 


128 THE BOY SCOUTS 

thing,” begged Nelse. “All you need to do is to 
swat it far enough to get round once.” 

Jack Swift looked him over casually. Somehow 
he did not seem dangerous. He sent, one across so 
fast that Fat was still swinging as the catcher started 
to return the ball. “Take your time,” encouraged 
Nelse; “only don’t take it next week. The object 
is to hit the object.” 

“Don’t worry about little things,” retorted Harve. 
“Come on, Jack, I dare you!” 

Swift, too, laughed. It was the sort of friendly 
game they all liked. Anything went and they knew 
that nothing was meant,. True sportsmanship does 
not prohibit fun between real friends. Swift 
pitched. If he had not been laughing, he 
would have had better control. The ball thud- 
ded into Harve Foster’s ribs. Fie let out a 
wild yell. 

If it had been a fast one, it might really have 
hurt. As it was, it “plumped.” Harve knew he 
was not hurt, therefore he lay down tenderly, rolled 
onto his back and folded his hands on his chest. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 129 

Nelse understood. In an instant he was at the 
plate. The next, he had Fat by the heels and was 
prancing toward first, dragging the victim behind 
him. 

There was a yell of protest from the Foxes, then a 
roar. “Got to get a man on base somehow,” an- 
nounced Nelse. “Put a hornet in his ear. That’ll 
bring him to life.” 

Harve kicked himself free, sat up and glanced 
at Swift. “Lucky you didn’t bean me,” he said; 
“you tried to.” 

“I didn’t. It would have bust the ball. Are you 
all right now, old man?” 

“You’ll think so when you see me steal second.” 

“Dick’s on second, you nut!” yelled Nelse. “You 
obey signals.” 

“What are they ?” 

“Hanged if I know! Joe, did we have any sig- 
nals?” 

“Play ball!” chuckled Mr. Steve. “Who’s the 
next victim?” 

It was Joe. He liked burlesque as much as the 


130 THE BOY SCOUTS 

rest, but he also wanted that game. “Quit fooling, 
Harve!” he ordered. “We need these runs.” 

“How can I get a run?” mourned Harve. “The 
bases are all littered up ahead of me ; you do some- 
thing. I’ve been the sacrifice; you be the hero. 
You look like one. Why don’t you wash your 
face?” 

Joe’s two bagger did account for two runs. 
Harve had more speed than even he supposed. 
But Joe was left on second and the score was 6 to 4. 

Alex and Nick added two more runs in the 
fifth. It began to look a real game. The chatter 
died down. Neither side could afford to fool 
now. Alex was pitching real ball, but he found 
Jack was as stingy with hits in the sixth and 
seventh. “This is something like,” declared Long, 
as he trotted in at t,he end of the inning. 

“Good game, all right,” agreed Nelse. “Some 
fun to fight it out. Wish the diamond was bet- 
ter, though.” 

“Good enough to have a pile of fun on,” stated 
Bill fervently. “Some party, I’ll say!” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 131 

“We think so, old top. Wish we had you here 
all the time.” 

“You’ve said a face full, Nelse! Who’s at bat, 
Jim?” 

A rock between first and second accounted for 
the Foxes new run. But the Wolves managed to 
tie the score in the last half of the eighth. Even 
Hec went wild. He didn’t know why, but he ran 
around in circles and stole Fat’s cap. “Take 
that skunk-hound away from here and park him 
where he won’t be prominent,” he ordered Tug. 
“He’ll have some hard luck, if I catch him.” 

“I’ll take him with me,” declared Tug. “He 
doesn’t bother me at all.” 

“You keep him out of left field, then. I don’t 
care what happens in your garden. Give me that 
hat,. Come on, Hec; I know where there’s a 
thistle you can worry.” 

“Play the game,” warned Joe, as his men went 
to their positions. “Seven to seven and we don’t 
want extra innings.” 

Neither did Alex Cotton. He had been carry- 


132 THE BOY SCOUTS 

ing the full weight of the game on his shoulders 
and was tired. He knew extra innings would 
spell disaster for him. He also knew the weak 
end of the Wolf batting list came up next. That 
worried him, too. He became even more deliberate. 
By mixing curves with speed, he turned back 
the first Fox. A grounder, Lowell to Field, 
accounted for the second. Bill Long came up, his 
jaw set. 

He caught the first ball squarely. It went arch- 
ing out to left, straight for Harve Foster’s hands. 
Alex sighed with sheer relief. Even Fat couldn’t 
drop that fly. Tug, over in center, saw how easy 
it was. “Yow!” he yelled in triumph. “You take 
’em, boy!” 

Hec came to life at that cry. Fat had knocked 
off his cap to see better. The dog saw it fall 
and started for it at full speed. Then he saw 
the ball falling into Harve’s hands. He loved a 
ball. His loyalty was tantalized. He didn’t know 
whether to grab the cap or leap for the ball. While 
he was deciding, he crashed into Harve’s legs. 



Dull 


HE CRASHED INTO HARVE’s LEGS 



AT CAMP LOWELL 133 

There was a yell, a thud, and Harve went sprawl- 
ing. 

Bill Long came to life and picked up his speed as 
he rounded first. 

But Hec had not lost his feet. He saw the 
ball rolling into the pasture. He was on it in 
an instant,. Dick Hunt, dashing over from right, 
tried to catch him. That was the sort of game 
Hec could really appreciate. He dodged, fled a 
few feet, then turned to lure further pursuit. Bill 
Long rounded second. 

“Hit him with a rock! ,, roared Harve, joining 
in the chase. 

“Hec! Hec, come here!” commanded Tug shrilly. 

The pup heard the one voice he obeyed. He 
began to trot proudly toward his master. Bill 
Long rounded third. 

“Drat that dog!” wailed Fat. Bill crossed the 
plate. “I protest that run, Mr. Umpire,” yelled 
the irate Harve. “It’s a blocked ball.” 

Bill lay down and rolled over and over. 
“ ’Tain’t blocked yet,” he gurgled: “it’s still 


134 THE BOY SCOUTS 

movin’. My, oh my! What luck! I thought 
Hec was your mascot, Joe?” 

Stephen Mayhew tried to control his own 
laughter. “I may know the rules, Joe,” he gasped, 
“but this play is up to you. Is Bill safe, or does 
he go back to second?” 

“Runs count,” declared Joe promptly. “Score’s 
8 to 7.” 

“Thought you’d say that, but I’m going to order 
Hec off the field.” 

“Order me to take him,” begged Harve. “Order 
me!” But Tug was already leading his dis- 
graced pet away by one ear. “Play ball!” com- 
manded Mr. Steve. 

Alex had seen an even chance for victory changed 
into what looked like sure defeat. But now he 
gritted his teeth, determined to give the best there 
was in him. He put all he had into the next four 
pitches and nothing had ever sounded more grate- 
ful to him than the umpire’s “Batter out!” He 
came in from the box wiping his hot face on his 
sleeve. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 135 

“We’ve got to pull this game out of the wreck, 
Joe,” he sighed. 

“We’re going to, ole hoss. Don’t you get any 
other idea in your head.” 

“Who’s up?” 

“Tug.” 

Alex wanted to groan. Only his loyalty to Tug 
prevented it. The little fellow couldn’t hit. He 
was on the nine only because he completed the num- 
ber, and he knew it. 

“What’ll I do, Joe?” he asked, as he picked up a 
bat. 

“Stick your old bean in front of the ball,” urged 
Harve. 

Joe, too, grinned. “Slug it, out, old top,” he or- 
dered cheerfully. “You can do it.” 

It made Tug feel better, even though he appre- 
ciated the impossibility of the order. He walked out 
to the plate waving his bat. Jack Swift, who had 
already struck him out three times, waved a wel- 
come. Tug scuffed his feet, into the dust and poised 
his bat. — Then he decided that the best thing to do 


136 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


was to act threatening. It might affect the pitcher’s 
nerve. He thought that, because he knew it would 
disturb him, were he in Jack’s place. 

Even as Swift wound up carelessly, the bat was 
still doing gymnastics. The ball came. Tug saw it, 
tried to check the motion of his war club, tried to 
bring it back into position from which to bring it for- 
ward. Then the accident occurred. The ball 
crashed against the bat and rolled feebly toward 
third. For a fraction of a second, Tug stood dumb- 
founded. “Run!” screamed Nelse. “Run, you 
ossified prune !” 

Tug ran, ran as hard as he could. Ten feet from 
first he dived headlong for the rock which served 
for a bag. 

“Whatcher slide for?” demanded Nelse. “You 
were safe a mile. Good bunt. You fooled ’em.” 

Tug grinned sheepishly as he got to his feet. 
“Do I get credit for a hit?” he asked. 

“No, an error,” chuckled Nelse. “On your toes, 
now; we need this run.” 

Stan came to bat,. Joe ran out and whispered 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


137 


to Nelse, who nodded. Tug looked at the two, be- 
wildered. “Run when I say,” ordered Nelse. “I’ll 
do the brain work.” 

That was the sort of order Tug Wilson wanted. 
As Swift made ready to pitch, he looked at Nelse, 
but the coach shook his head. Tug knew he was to 
stay where he was. But the next time Jack shot 
a ball for the plate, Nelse let out a yell like an 
Indian in pursuit of a toothsome dog. Head down, 
Tug legged it for second. He thought he was 
stealing a base; he had no idea that he was one 
end of a hit and run play. All that saved him 
was the fact that Stan’s grounder went toward 
first. 

Tug, perched on second, had only one regret, — 
he was too far from Nelse. He looked appealingly 
at him but Nelse only shook his head. Tug began 
to feel like a sailor adrift on a lonesome shingle. 
He wanted to get home but he couldn’t see how 
it was to be done. It seemed even more hopeless 
as he watched Swift strike Alex out. Then he saw 
Dick Hunt coming to the bat, Dick, most probably, 


138 THE BOY SCOUTS 

would do something or other. Tug thought he’d 
stick around second and make sure. 

Dick, with the tying run on second, had visions 
of a rosier sort. Here was his chance. A home 
run would mean the game for the Wolves. It 
would mean much to the fellows to win; it would 
mean far more to him to win for them. He swung 
at the first ball with all his might. And he missed 
it by a couple of feet. 

Maybe, he felt, it would be better to play it safe. 
A two bagger would bring Tug home with the tying 
run. Joe Lowell would then be up. Joe would 
bring him home from second with a clean single. 
He compromised between hope and safety by de- 
ciding to smash out a three bagger. “Strike two!” 
announced Mr. Steve. 

Dick shook his head. This wouldn’t do at all. 
He had heard Harve’s groan at the umpire’s an- 
nouncement. The fellows were counting on him; 
they were disappointed because he had not already 
delivered the goods. He looked at the pitcher, saw 
Him shake his head. Jack was calling for another 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


139 


signal. Dick decided that he was going to tempt 
him with a wide one. Maybe ! But he was not to be 
fooled, with the game hanging on him. He gripped 
his bat firmly. 

“Run on anything, Tug,” yelled Nelse. “Two 
out. Drive ’er, Dick!” 

The ball came. It was wide of the plate. Dick 
almost had time to draw a quick breath of relief. 
He had outguessed Jack Swift. He could not be 
tempted. But just then the ball broke. Like a 
flash it darted in. He tried to swing. 

“Three strikes!” declared Mr. Steve; “batter 
out!” 

“Wow !” yelled Bill Long. “Yow ! Yow ! Three 
cheers for the Wolf Patrol, fellows!” 

Dick Hunt heard but dimly. The Foxes had won 
8 to 7. He had failed in the first crisis they had put 
him in. Slowly he turned and walked away from 
the plate. 


CHAPTER VII 


HARVE TO THE RESCUE 

Nelse Pease stood on the end of the spring- 
board which reached out over the swimming hole. 
Below him, half a dozen lads were visible; while on 
the bank, the rest of the two patrols waited their 
turns to plunge into the lake. “Go on, wade in, 
Dick,” he called. “If you tried it from here, you 
couldn’t hit the water.” 

Dick Hunt did his best, to laugh. The other 
Wolves might take the Fox victory as more or less 
of a joke, but to him it was a different matter. In 
spite of all Joe and Alex had already said, he felt 
that he had failed at the critical moment, had proved 
himself of much less than no use, had been unable 
to deliver the goods when the Patrol had called to 
him. Harve Foster saw the quick wince as Nelson’s 
shot struck home and, with a laugh, dashed at the 


140 


AT CAMP LOWELL 141 

springboard. “See if you can hit it yourself, 
Nelse,” he hooted. 

There was a yell as Fat took-off from the center 
of the board but, instead of diving high, he threw 
his heavy body headlong in a flying tackle and, 
catching Nelse around the waist, went into the lake 
with him with a mighty splash. “Don’t you chaps 
care what chances you take?” gasped Bill Long; 
“Fat might have killed him.” 

Joe laughed. “Guess you don't know all there is 
to know about that pair of ducks. Mr. Steve trained 
’em. Want to see the Two Marvelous Mayhew 
Seals-Count ’Em-perform?” 

“Sure! Trot out anything in the way of a 
laugh.” 

“Come out of that, you two wharf rats!” ordered 
Joe; “you’ve got to give a show.” 

Fat came in with the clean-cut stroke of the racing 
crawl, Nelse close in his wake. “All right,” he 
agreed. “It never hurt either of us to be modest.” 

“Throw us a jack knife,” suggested Eb. “I’ve 
been trying to learn that dive.” 


142 THE BOY SCOUTS 

Nelse grinned. “It’s very simple,” he said. 
“Get out there, Fatness.” 

Eb wondered just why Harve took such trouble 
to get his feet and distance just so. He always had 
supposed that jack knife was done easily and quickly 
by experts. He began to believe that the Wolves 
over-estimated the prowess of their specialists. But, 
before he could completely form the idea, Nelse 
darted out on the board, sprang leap-frogged cleanly 
over Fat and went, down like a plummet, missing 
the end of the board by six inches. Before Eb 
could gasp, Fat was disappearing among the 
bubbles. 

“Wow!” he yelled and sat down. “I hope this 
is a six reel show.” 

What the pair did not do in the way of fancy 
double diving, the Foxes had never heard of. How 
big Harve Foster could be so graceful, was a mys- 
tery to them which was not explained until the two 
Patrols insisted that Mr. Steve show them what 
diving really was. Then even Nelse and Harve 
sat down. “Maybe we can learn some day,” sighed 


AT CAMP LOWELL 143 

Nelse. “Ain’t he the little Kellerman cutie, 
though !” 

“Wish he’d teach us,” said Bill enviously. 
“You fellows don’t appreciate your luck.” 

“No!” Stan chuckled. “No,” he repeated, “we 
haven’t one bit of use for that man. Beyond dying 
for him any old time, we wouldn’t do a thing for 
him. Most of the time he’s just in our way.” 

“Why don’t you Foxes come up and establish a 
camp like ours,” suggested Nick. “There’s room 
enough round the lake and it would be a heap, of 
fun to have you here.” 

“If wishes were Camp Lowells,” admitted Bill, 
“we have a couple of ’em on the half shell. Maybe, 
some day, we’ll be able to buy a tent and do some- 
thing of the sort.. Just now our treasury looks as 
if a he-elephant had sat on it.” 

“Why don’t you talk it over with the Scout Com- 
missioner,” suggested Mr. Steve quietly. 

Bill grinned sheepishly. “I’ve done just that,” 
he owned, “and I got just, what I expected.” 


“What was that?” 


144 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“Got told that, if the Foxes wanted a camp, the 
best way for them to get one was for them to get 
busy and earn one.” 

“Mr. Nelson believes in you fellows earning your 
fun,” Mr. Steve said. “Reckon he’s right about 
it, too. You appreciate a thing far more when 
you’ve done something worth while for it.” 

“Maybe so,” agreed Bill; “most probably you’re 
right. But we could appreciate a nice little shack 
over on that point right now, if Santa Claus would 
stuff it in our sock.” 

“You ought at least to be willing to hang up the 
sock, Bill,” laughed Mr. Mayhew. 

“I’ll, nail both mine on the spring board and 
walk home barefoot, if you think the bait’ll work,” 
he retorted. “It would be a fine thing for the 
Wolves to have us as neighbors. Remind you chaps 
all the time that there was something right handy 
which could put it all over you at any old time.” 

“For that,” declared Joe, “you get yours. Come 
on, Harve; duck him.” And, before the Foxes 
could rally to his rescue, Bill went sailing out over 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


145 


the water to land with a spank which made him 
howl. “Next lady?” offered Fat. “Little aero- 
plane trip free of cost. Come on in, Eb; the water’s 
fine.” He poised an instant, then went headlong 
in a flying sailor. 

It needed but little persuasion, when the two Pa- 
trols were back at camp, to have the Foxes remain 
for supper. Mr. Steve was as whole hearted in his 
invitation as were any of the boys, and assured Bill 
that it made no difference what time the Mayhew 
cars reached Gillfield that evening. But one thing 
that Bill did insist on was that members of 
his Patrol be detailed as assistants to Wolves who 
had to do any of the work preparatory to the meal. 

“You can do all of it, if it will save you from 
heart break,” Harve offered generously; “I’ve no 
special yearning to set the table. I’d much rather 
sit in the hammock and finish the center-piece I’m 
embroidering. Come on, Eb, and I’ll show you how 
to wreck China.” 

If luncheon and the afternoon had been fun for 
them all, supper and the evening spent about the 


146 THE BOY SCOUTS 

camp fire, with Stephen Mayhew as story-teller- 
in-chief, was no anti-climax. The Wolves were as 
sorry as the Foxes when it came time for the start 
for Gillfield, and that was saying a great deal. 
“Don’t know how we’re going to do it,” Bill Long 
declared as he took his place in one of the cars, 
“but we fellows are going to have a camp near you 
fellows or bust.” 

“We might be able to stand you as neighbors,” 
admitted Nelse ; “but we’d sure hate to have you bust 
all over any of our pet scenery. Whatever you do, 
don’t get reckless and come up again when the skat- 
ing gets good. We can lick you at hockey.” 

“You can have the chance any old time,” yelled 
Eb. 

“All right; week after next — if the ice is good.” 

“And that ends that part,” sighed Fat, as the 
cars disappeared into the night. “Good game, I’ll 
say!” 

“Would have been, if I hadn’t struck out,” mut- 
tered Dick. 

“What’s that?” Harve wheeled around. “Say, 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


147 


forget it ! I wasn’t speaking of that near ball game. 
We got licked and that’s that. Even if it had been 
your fault, what’s the dif ? If you hadn’t had hard 
luck, some of the rest of us might have. Hec wasn’t 
any special help to us.” 

“But Hec didn’t mean to do anything wrong.” 

“Did you mean to strike out?” 

“Of course not.” 

“Then whatcher tryin’ to give yourself such a 
rotten time for? If everybody made a hit every 
time he went to bat, a ball game would never end 
and no one would get a chance to sleep. That game’s 
ended and here’s where I begin to pound my ear. 
Anybody else for the hay?” 

“Guess we all are about ready,” acknowledged 
Joe. “Some day! Let’s have that crowd up again 
before the summer’s over.” 

“Betcher !” agreed Stan. “They’re all right. 
Wouldn’t be half bad if they should put something 
across and get a camp of their own. Hi, Dick! 
Where you goin’?” 

“I’m not very sleepy yet and I like the moonlight 


148 THE BOY SCOUTS 

on the water. Guess I’ll take a canoe and go for 
a paddle. I don’t get much of this sort of thing, 
you know; I’m only here week ends.” 

“Bug house!” grunted Fat. 

“Let him alone,” cautioned Joe. “He’s kinder 
sore over losing that game. Let him find himself.” 

“He can, for all of me,” assented Harve. “Say, 
Dick,” he yelled after the disappearing boy, “when 
you come in, come softly and don’t light anything. 
If you spoil my beauty sleep, I’ll fix you so naps 
won’t help you at all.” 

But going to sleep instantly, when several com- 
panionable fellows are in the same camp, is quite a 
different thing from saying you are going to do 
so. Harve Foster was no sooner in his bunk than he 
discovered that he had a lot of important ideas 
which had to be aired immediately. There was not 
only what had happened during the past few hours 
but what was going to be made to happen the next 
day. It would never do to wake up facing another 
morning and afternoon without a complete pro- 
gram to be disregarded. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 149 

It was Nick who protested at last. ‘‘Geer’ he 
yawned. “I’d most rather hear you snore, Fat. 
It’s almost eleven.” 

“Dick ought to be in soon,” suggested Joe, a 
trifle anxiously. “Don’t suppose he upset?” 

“What if he has?” mumbled Alex. “He can 
swim.” 

“Might get a cramp,” suggested Fat. “I almost 
had one — ” 

“Oh, dry up!” advised Nick. 

“I’m dried up already,” retorted Harve. “Guess 
I’ll get a drink.” 

“Put a pail of water under your pillow and go 
to sleep,” Nick turned over and pulled the blankets 
about his ears. 

But Harve, who was now wide awake again, de- 
cided that he wanted, not only a drink, but a hand- 
kerchief which, he believed, was in the bottom of 
his pack. He got the first and started to rummage 
for the other. Beyond falling over a chair, he was 
comparatively quiet until he started to paw the 
assorted treasures out of that pack. It was then 


150 THE BOY SCOUTS 

that Alex hurled a shoe. Fat promptly gave no- 
tice that a hit had been scored. 

“What if it did?” demanded Alex. “Your skin’s 
tougher than boiled owl. Go back to bed and shut 
up.” 

“But my leg’s broke,” groaned Harve, “busted 
completely in two just above the wish bone.” 

“Oh, shut up!” 

“Hit the hay!” 

“Go out and tell it to Hec !” 

But Harve had other ideas. He recalled that 
water bucket by the window. Somehow there 
seemed a pleasant association between its contents 
and the warm nest Alex was inhabiting. There- 
fore he stumbled toward the bucket. 

At the window he came to a sudden halt. “Holy 
catfish!” he exclaimed. “The roof’s blown off a 
mountain. Say, fellows, there’s a big fire some- 
where !” 

“Oh, go back to bed ! It’s the moon.” 

“Choke him !” 

“Everybody out!” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 151 

There was no mistaking the excitement in Harve’s 
shout. Seven pairs of bare feet hit the floor with 
a thud. “It’s near here/’ he said; “over Bray’s 
way. Maybe his house.” 

Already he was dashing for the door. The rest 
were crowding after him. They, too, saw the dull, 
red glow growing brighter each instant. “It’s a 
big one,” declared Nick. 

“It is over by the Bray place,” agreed Tug. 

“Everybody dress!” Joe’s order was sharp, and 
they whirled from the door to grab their clothes. 
“Shirts, breeches, coats, and shoes,” he went on; 
don’t stop for anything else. Patrol may be needed.” 

There was no chatter now. Training in order- 
liness told. No light was needed. Each knew 
where he had left his clothes. Joe, as usual, was 
the first ready. Darting out onto the veranda, he 
looked at the fire again. There was no question 
about it’s being an ugly one. He could see the 
smoke and, against it, the reflection of angry 
flames. “It’s on the Bray place,” he affirmed : 
“hurry. Form Patrol!” 


152 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


Almost before he had spoken, two joined him; 
others followed. He began the roll call. Tug 
Wilson answered his name as he came out head- 
long. “Single file, ,, snapped Joe; “run!” 

“Where’s Hunt?” demanded Nick, as he leaped 
the steps. 

“Probably there now. If not, he’ll come as soon 
as he finds we’ve gone.” 

At the head of the line, Joe swung into the path 
which led to the Bray farm. It was dark in the 
woods, but he set the pace at full speed. He knew 
enough about fires to appreciate that, up here in the 
hills, every particle of help would be sorely needed. 
He had only two fears ; the first that some one would 
turn an ankle in the rough going, the real one that 
they would arrive too late to be of help. 

The Wolves had made good time before but never 
such speed as now. As they emerged into the first 
field they caught a full view of what was happening. 
Nelse Pease yelled, but Joe’s jaw set the firmer. 

“What can we do?” panted Ned. 

“Run!” 



THE WOLVES VAULTED THE LAST FENCE AND WHIRLED 
INTO THE FARMYARD ” 




























0 





























AT CAMP LOWELL 153 

They obeyed. The Patrol formation was broken. 
It was each at topmost speed as they rushed the 
meadow. Great puffs of smoke, like balloons, came 
from the barn roof. Then, with a roar, a vast 
sheet of flame burst into the air and it became as 
light as day. On the road they saw men running 
toward the Bray house. From a distance came 
the beat of galloping hoofs. The neighbors 
were running to the rescue. The Wolves 
vaulted the last fence and whirled into the farm 
yard. 

“What shall we do?” panted Joe. 

The gasping, choking man to whom he spoke 
shook his head. “Got my horses out,” he said; 
“saved two' cows. Rest will go.” 

“Where are they?” 

“Shed under south corner. Smoke’s awful. 
Keep away.” 

“But they’ll be burned.” 

Mr. Bray stiffened. “I’ll try for another,” he 
said. 

“Two of us will go,” volunteered Joe. 


154 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“No.” He started for the blazing building once 
more. 

Alex Cotton stepped forward. “Ned and I know 
fire work,” he said. 

Joe looked at the two a second. “All right,” he 
agreed. “We came to help.” 

They darted into the smoke in the wake of the 
farmer. “Go back,” he yelled, as he saw them. 

“We’re all right; you lead.” 

There was neither time nor breath for argument. 
Ahead they could hear the doomed animals. Ned 
felt the searing heat of a burst of flame and threw 
his arm over his face. “Take off your coat and be 
ready to cover your head,” ordered Alex. “Wish 
we could wet ’em.” 

Bray darted into the barn. The smoke was sti- 
fling but, as yet, the flame had not eaten downward. 
The two boys followed. Ahead they heard the man 
wrenching at the stanchions. “Here!” he cried; 
“lead this one out. Maybe I can free another.” 

Ned grabbed at the halter, jerked the frightened 
cow around, gave her a slap and a yank and started 


AT CAMP LOWELL 155 

her for the door. Five feet and she baulked. He 
threw his coat over her eyes. She moved again 
but a snail’s pace. “Joe!” he yelled. “Oh, 
Joe!” 

A moment more and Lowell came dashing through 
the smoke. “Take her,” gasped Ned; “I’m goin’ 
back.” 

Alex brought out the next animal. Little Tug 
took her from him. The Patrol was relaying them 
into the open. Some farmer took them from the 
last boy and drove them to safety. Five were res- 
cued before Ned collapsed as he led out the sixth. 
Joe, giving the cow a slap on the flank, dropped the 
halter to grab his friend. With one sweeping 
swing he had him on his shoulder. A moment more 
and he staggered out into the untainted air. A 
woman ran up. “Put him here,” she said; “he’ll 
be all right in a minute. But don’t you go back 
there.” 

“I’ve got to; Alex is still in there.” 

“Bill Bray shouldn’t er let you go.” 

But Joe did not stop to hear what Bray should or 


156 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


should not have permitted. He knew the farmer 
was still in there with Alex, and he knew Ned had 
stayed as long as it was possible for a Scout to stay. 
Therefore he was afraid of what already might have 
happened “Harve!” he yelled. “Oh, Harve!” 

“Whatcher want?” The big fellow was at his 
side in an instant. 

“Alex out?” 

“Haven’t seen him.” 

“Come on, then.” 

Without another word they darted into the smoke, 
heads low, holding their breath. They found the 
doorway. “I’ll go,” said Harve. But Lowell was 
at his heels as they both plunged through. 

It was thick and the heat terrific. Fat winced for 
an instant. Then he heard the rattle of a chain to 
his left. He knew seconds counted as hours. He 
started for the sound. Ten feet and he collided 
with a staggering, gasping man. 

For an instant he steadied him; then, “Take him 
out, Joe,” he commanded. “I’ll find Alex.” 

Lowell knew there was no time to argue. He 


AT CAMP LOWELL 157 

knew Harve could stand the smoke but a moment. 
Grabbing Mr. Bray by the arm, he rushed out. 
But his chief thought was to send Stan in to help 
Fat. 

Harve Foster, alone in the smoke, fought for- 
ward with a gameness he never knew he possessed. 
His one idea was to find his friend before he, him- 
self, dropped. He knew Alex must haye been with 
Mr. Bray. Therefore he was going in the right 
direction. But he could go but very few steps 
further and still be able to make the return trip. 

It seemed miles instead of feet, hours instead 
of seconds, before he found him. Alex was stum- 
bling toward a little window through which he 
could never have crawled. Fat clutched at him 
but Alex was stupid from the smoke. Harve got 
behind him, started to rush him out. Alex went 
a few feet, stumbled. They both went down. 

Harve knew their situation was desperate. He 
scrambled up, picked Alex up in his arms and made 
one more rush. He blundered through the door 
in some way; then twenty feet more and he fell 


158 THE BOY SCOUTS 

again. But, as he went down, he yelled with what 
breath he had left. There was a rush and, as 
strong hands gripped his shoulders, he had an idea 
that some one had begun to swing him in a ham- 
mock above a smoking, blazing pit. Then he had 
no ideas at all. 

Five minutes later a dull, thudding crash half 
awakened him. He thought it must be the Fourth 
of July. Great spouts of sparks were swirling 
into the air. It was as if a million Roman candles 
had collided with half as many angry pinwheels. 
Then, indistinctly, he heard some one say some- 
thing about a roof falling and he remembered 
there had been a fire somewhere or other. “Lie 
still,” commanded Tug Wilson’s voice; “you’ll be 
all right pretty soon.” 

But Harve, finding he could breathe something 
which seemed less thick than pea soup, sat up. In 
front of him was a group of men who were doing 
nothing but watch the settling ruin. To one side 
he saw the equally idle Wolves. “Can’t any one 
do anything, Tug?” he asked. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


159 

“Guess not. It’s all over. They say the house 
would have gone, if the wind hadn’t been the other 
way.” 

“Did they save all the stock?” 

“Most of it,” was the nervous reply. “Better 
sit still some more. You can see from here and 
you must be full of smoke still.” 

“Then I’ll move round and make a draft so the 
smoke’ll blow out.” He got his feet under him, 
swayed a second, then shook himself like a New- 
foundland pup just out of a river. “All right 
now,” he stated. “I wouldn’t go into a place like 
that again for six ice cream sodas and two milk 
shakes.” 

“You did an awfully brave thing,” stated Tug 
soberly. 

“I wouldn’t have, if I’d stopped to think,” Fat 
confessed. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE ABSENT SCOUT 

Slowly, at first, the flames seemed to settle; 
then, almost as quickly as the sky had been turned 
to scarlet, darkness returned and only a glowing, 
crimson pit told where the huge barn had stood. 
Joe saw Mrs. Bray, her lips trembling, pat her 
husband’s shoulder; saw the man’s back stiffen, 
heard his low-voiced “ ’S all right, Mother” ; saw 
them both try to smile as another neighbor came 
up to offer sympathy. It was the sort of courage 
which appealed most to him. He wanted to tell 
them so but did not know how. Instead, he 
'edged up to the farmer and asked quietly if there 
were anything he could do. 

“Do?” broke out Mr. Bray. “Should think you 
boys had done enough. I’m thankful you’re all 
alive. Foster had a close call. He’s all grit.” 


160 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


161 


“If you mean the big, fat chap, broke in an- 
other farmer, “you haven’t half said it. I’ve 
watched these boys down to their camp, Bray, 
and all I got to say is that I’m goin’ home and tell 
my three boys and get them made Boy Scouts.” 

“Send ’em down to camp, sir,” suggested Nelse, 
“and we’ll tell ’em how to begin. What started 
the fire, Mr. Bray?” 

“Wish I knew.” 

“Been out there with a lantern or a pipe this 
evenin’?” It was a bearded farmer from far up 
the road who asked. 

“Don’t smoke, Ben,” retorted Mr. Bray. “Didn’t 
go to the barn after I done the chores, either.” 

“Somethin’ started it,” declared the man soberly. 

“Or some one,” growled Bray. 

“What’s that! Whatcher mean?” 

“Maybe nothing.” 

“Think it’s arson? Think some one’s got it, in 
for ye?” The farmers were crowding close now. 

“Bill!” It was Mrs. Bray who spoke and her 
voice was pleading. The big man looked at her, 


162 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


then shrugged his shoulders. "‘Reckon I’m too 
stirred up to think straight to-night,” he muttered 
and turned away. 

But the group he left was far from satisfied. 
He had given them something to think about which 
was of vital interest to every man who owned a 
farm for miles around. They knew Bill Bray and 
they could not believe he had an enemy in the world. 
If some one had fired his barn, none of their prop- 
erty was safe. For a moment they stared at each 
other questioningly, then, as if afraid that one would 
give the answer all dreaded, drifted apart. 

But Bray himself had not gone far before he 
heard an impatient hail. Again he turned and 
hurried to where his rescued cattle were standing 
in a fence corner. “What’s the matter?” he 
asked. 

“Matter enough!” came the snarling reply. 
“Ain’t goin’ to stand here all night, herdin’ yer 
cows.” 

The voice sounded familar, but Mr. Bray peered 
more sharply to make sure. He could hardly 


AT CAMP LOWELL 163 

credit either ears or eyes. It was Hanson. “Don’t 
expect you to,” he said. “But I do thank you 
for your kindness. Hi, one of you Scouts!” 

Hanson snorted as Mr. Bray’s call rang out. 
“Some time some o’ yer fat heads’ll learn to leave 
them boys be.” 

“What do you mean? They’ve done good work 
to-night.” 

“Reckon, if yer satisfied, I be. Wouldn’t call 
burnin’ one o’ my barns good work, though.” 

“What’s that!” The question fairly crackled. 

Hanson shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Better 
learn who set that fire,” he growled. “I ain’t goin’ 
to tend these cows no more; goin’ home.” 

“You wait!” 

“Ain’t workin’ fer you.” Hanson turned on his 
heel and, without another word, hurried to the 
road where he had left his horse hitched to the 
fence. 

Mr. Bray took one quick step but, before he 
could take another, two boys raced up to him. 
“Did you call for some of us?” asked Nick. 


164 THE BOY SCOUTS 

“Yes. Want some one to drive the cattle into 
the pasture. No other place for ’em now.” He 
studied the boys for a second. “Hear anything 
Hanson said?” he asked suddenly. 

“Hanson? Didn’t know he was here.” 

“Um! Neither did I — until a minute ago.” 

“I saw him drive up just as we got here,” vol- 
unteered Field. “Was going to watch the cows, 
as you people brought them out, but he came along 
and said he’d do it, and for me to get back with 
the fellows where I was needed. What’s biting 
him now ?” 

“You saw him drive up, you say?” 

“Yes, sir. He was licking his old bag of bones 
for fair.” 

“Which way’d he come from?” 

“That.” Ned pointed up the road. 

“Lives that way.” He was thoughtful for a 
moment. “All you boys from camp came to- 
gether, didn’t you?” 

“Yes, sir.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 165 

“All but one,” corrected Nick. “Don’t forget 
Dick, Ned.” 

“That’s so. Say, I haven’t seen him, either.” 
His voice became suddenly anxious. “Wonder if 
anything could have happened to him? He left 
camp,” he explained, “and went out in a canoe. 
He’s only here for week ends and wants to make 
the most of his time. Guess I’d better ask Joe if 
he’s seen him.” 

“Is that the boy who had trouble with Hanson 
last week? 

“Yes.” 

“That accounts for it.” 

“What do you mean, sir?” 

“Not a thing worth bothering your heads over,” 
declared Mr. Bray forcefully. “Only you find Dick 
and forget what I’ve asked you. I’ll get some one 
else to take care of the cows.” 

For a second the two boys looked at each other, 
then sped in search of Lowell. “What’s he so 
interested in Dick Hunt, about?” queried Nick. 


166 THE BOY SCOUTS 

“Search me ! Suppose there’s anything fishy 
about this fire and they suspect him?” 

“What’d they suspect him for. He’s never — ” 
Nick gulped. It flashed over him with sickening 
suddenness that Dick Hunt was the one boy in all 
Gillfield whose past would lay him open to instant 
suspicion. “Dick’s all right.” 

“Bet he is!” declared Ned with equal loyalty. 
“Mr. Bray would never suspect him of any funny 
business. Our game’s to find him quick. He 
must be here somewhere. Couldn’t help but see 
the fire and come. There’s Joe.” 

But their eager questions brought no satisfactory 
response. Dick had not been seen, either by 
the Patrol leader or any of the rest. “Mr. Bray 
told us to find him,” explained Nick. “What’ll 
we do?” 

“Why does he want him?” asked Joe. 

“Don’t, know. Just told us to find him, that’s 
all.” 

Joe had no reputation for slow thinking. His 
face became clouded and his teeth set tight. “Get 


AT CAMP LOWELL 167 

the fellows together, Nick,” he ordered; “I’m go- 
ing to see Mr. Bray.” 

Ten minutes later he rejoined the Patrol, his 
heavy frown having given place to a puzzled, 
anxious expression. The farmer had only done his 
best to thank him for all he and the rest had done, 
and had commanded him to forget all about his 
conversation with Nick and Ned. “I’d trust any 
of you Scouts anywhere, anytime,” was all Joe 
had been able to make him say. “So would any of 
the rest of us farmers round the lake. Young 
Hunt might have gotten upset in that canoe. You’d 
better find him; we don’t want any more trouble 
up this way to-night.” 

There was nothing more they could do at the 
farm. Joe looked from one to another. “Come 
on,” he commanded; “let’s find Dick.” And, 
without another word, he led them back 
along the path into the woods and toward the 
camp. 

As Joe at last leaped the steps of the veranda, 
a figure rose from the hammock swung to face the 


168 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


lake. “Thought you fellows had gotten homesick 
and gone back to Gillfield,” said Dick Hunt. 

The Patrol slid to a stop behind Joe. “ Where’ ve 
you been? ,, 

“Why didn’t you come up?” 

“Didn’t you see the fire?” 

“What fire?” 

“The Bray barn.” 

“The Bray barn ! I didn’t know about it.” 

“Didn’t you see the flames? Where were you?” 

“Paddled up to the head of the lake. Was it 
bad?” 

“Bad enough to nearly burn Harve,” declared 
the still excited Tug. “You should have been 
there, Dick.” 

“Gee, but I’m sorry I wasn’t! There was a 
loon up there and I tried to float the canoe close to 
it.” 

“Don’t see why you didn’t see the flames,” mut- 
tered Ned. “Whole sky was red.” 

“That big hill cuts off the end of the lake from 
the Bray place,” Joe explained. “Dick wouldn’t 


AT CAMP LOWELL 169 

see the flames from where he was. How long 
have you been back?” 

“ ’Bout twenty minutes, I guess. But tell 
me what happened. That’s the interesting 
part.” 

It was Nelse who launched into an account of 
what Harve and Alex had done and Dick listened 
open mouthed, until he had finished. Then, rising, 
he walked up to Foster and held out his hand. 
“It was fine!” he exclaimed. “All you fellows 
seem able to do the brave thing at the right minute. 
I hope my chance will come some day and that 
I’ll meet it like a Wolf.” 

Joe and Ned looked at each other and the latter 
nodded joyously. “Let’s turn in,” he suggested, 
with a happy laugh. “No one’s got to sing me to 
sleep ; I’m all in.” 

“I’m with you,” sighed Harve. “My little bed’s 
been calling to me.” 

“Get a drink before you squash it flat this time, 
old smoke consumer,” suggested Nelse. “If you 
discover another fire, and pull any more grand- 


170 THE BOY SCOUTS 

stand stuff, every one will know you set the thing 
so you could advertise yourself.” 

“Sure!” grinned Fat. “But next time I'll see 
that the movie machine’s on the job in time.” 

But it was harder to get to sleep than they had 
supposed. Alex was not the only one whose cough 
proved they were still feeling the effects of the 
smoke, nor was Tug the only one who wanted to 
live over again Harve’s bravery. The little fel- 
low completely forgot he was the only Medal of 
Honor Scout in the district, and he was too ex- 
cited over the thought that the Patrol had added to 
its record to go to sleep until long after the rest 
were quiet. 

They were hardly through breakfast, however, 
before the whole affair of the previous night was 
once more made the center of interest. Mr. Bray 
came striding out of the woods and up to the 
steps where the boys were sitting. “Good morn- 
ing, all of you,” he said heartily. “Wanted to 
make sure none of you was the worse for last 
night.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


171 

“Every one of us is able to sit up and eat an- 
other breakfast this minute, sir,” grinned Harve. 
“Come up and have a chair. Bully of you to think 
of us.” 

The farmer looked at him keenly, and a slow 
smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “I’d 
hardly forget you and Cotton,” he retorted. “I 
owe the whole of you more than I can ever 
repay.” 

“You don’t owe us anything,” Joe declared. 
“You and Mrs. Bray have been mighty nice to the 
Wolf Patrol and, if we have been able to show our 
appreciation, we’re some happy.” 

“I’ll tell the world!” echoed Nelse heartily. 
“And as for old Fat’s part in the party, what’s 
troubling us all is how he ever managed to get a 
cow out without stopping to milk her.” 

“I’ll tell you,” chuckled Harve, above the laugh- 
ter. “I don’t know how to milk.” 

“Come up this evening and I’ll teach you,” 
offered Mr. Bray. 

“Not on your life! I have to do all the work 


172 THE BOY SCOUTS 

down here ; I’m not going to be nurse maid for any 
kindfaced cow. How’s Mrs. Bray?” 

“All right and just as grateful as I am. We’ve 
sorter been talking things over,” he went on, more 
slowly,” and we’ve kinder decided we’d like to do 
something for you boys, if you’ll let us.” 

“You do enough now,” said Joe. 

“We like to. What we’d like better still is to 
have you feel our place is a sorter home for you.” 

“We do now,” declared Stan. “Ned spends 
most of his time there eating Mrs. Bray’s 
cookies.” 

“And that’s all right, too,” said the farmer. 
“But it’s not what I mean. You see it’s sorter 
like this : we haven’t any boys of our own and we 
like boys. The house is big and there is a big 
front room upstairs which looks out over the lake. 
Now, what we’d sorter like to have you do is 
about like this : we’ll fix that room up any way you 
say and it’s to be your room any time and all the 
time, but specially in winter when Camp Lowell 
isn’t open or comfortable. You’re to have that 


AT CAMP LOWELL 173 

room, and any of you can come and stay there as 
long as you want.” 

"Wow!” 

"Say, Mr. Bray!” 

"But we don’t deserve anything like that, sir,” 
confessed Joe, his face red. 

"Neither do we,” said the farmer, with a smile, 
"so we’ll call it a bargain.” 

"But it means hockey and skating and every- 
thin’,” gasped Tug. "It means we can come to the 
lake all the year round.” 

"Means the Brays want you to, youngster.” 

"Look here,” shouted Nelse, leaping to his feet; 
"what are we just talking for. Everybody up! 
Three cheers for Mr. and Mrs. Bray!” 

They were given, then three more and several 
other threes. The boys could hardly control their 
joy. They had never thought of having winter 
quarters at the lake. Even now they could not 
wholly realize their good luck. "Seems to me,” 
ventured Dick, "that we’d better go to the farm 
and thank Mrs. Bray, too.” 


174 THE BOY SCOUTS 

“Some suggestion !” agreed Nelse. “What say, 
Joe?” 

“I certainly want to.” 

“She’ll be glad to see you, now or at any time,” 
agreed the farmer, then turned to Dick. “Didn’t 
see you at the fire last night, did we?” 

“No. Didn’t know there was one until the fel- 
lows came home.” 

“Must be some sound sleeper,” observed Mr. 
Bray casually. 

“It wasn’t that, sir, nor because I wouldn’t have 
liked a chance to do my share. But I was up at 
the head of the lake in a canoe and didn’t even see 
the flames.” 

“Were you alone?” 

There was the merest note of anxiety in the 
question, and Joe and Ned were quick to catch it. 
The Patrol Leader sat suddenly erect. “Dick 
doesn’t get a chance to come up except for week 
ends, as I said,” he explained. “He tried to crowd 
seven days fun into two. He was chasing a loon.” 


“Oh!” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


175 


“Just my luck to be doing something foolish like 
that, too,” threw in Dick. “From now on I’m 
going to stick to the crowd.” 

“I would,” agreed Mr. Bray soberly, and got to 
his feet. “You all coming with me?” 

“We sure are !” 

“You can’t lose us. We want to cheer Mrs. 
Bray.” 

But, as they started through the woods, Ned and 
Joe fell behind the jubilant crowd. “Say,” Field 
at last exploded, “what’s goin’ on?” 

“I don’t know,” Joe confessed, shaking his head 
slowly. “I wish Dick had been with the bunch.” 

“You don’t think any one would be chump 
enough to think he had anything to do with set- 
ting that fire, do you?” 

“It doesn’t seem so. But it does seem as if Mr. 
Bray was trying to give him, or us, some sort of 
hint without telling us anything.” 

“But he was out in the canoe.” 

“We know that. We know him, too. But, while 
we’ve all done our best to forget Dick’s past, other 


176 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


people may remember it. I won’t even suspect that 
any one suspects him now, but I’m going to make it 
my business hereafter to see none has a chance to 
do anything of the sort. You or I will stick right 
with him, Ned, and don’t let any of the crowd guess 
anything, especially Dick. It would break his heart 
if he guessed any one mistrusted him.” 

“It sure would! You bet I’ll do all I can. I’m 
keen for him. He’s a good chap and as square as 
the day is long.” 

“You’re right. But he’s awfully sensitive.” 

“Don’t blame him for being so.” 

“Neither do I. We would be, if we’d gone 
through what he has. Come on, let’s catch up with 
the rest before Harve and Tug get curious.” 

They found Fat interested only in evading Mr. 
Bray’s hilarious invitation to begin milking lessons 
that evening. Ned had never thought the big man 
could be so full of fun. But Joe saw there was still 
a worried expression behind the twinkle in his eyes, 
and was decidedly glad when he found Tug walk- 
ing close to Dick Hunt. Of them all, he knew Tug 


AT CAMP LOWELL 177 

to be the one who felt things first, and he believed 
the little fellow had sensed some sort of trouble and 
was already offering his protection to the one he 
felt might need it most. And, knowing Tug, he 
fell into step with Alex, sure that his own load had 
been lightened. 

The fact that several of the neighboring farmers 
were gathered about the ruins of the barn rather 
quieted the greetings they had planned for Mrs. 
Bray. The men listened with good-natured approval 
and every one of them had words of congratulation 
for Harve and Alex; yet, when they had had their 
say, they returned to where the barn had stood. 
Joe watched in silence, then walked to Mr. Bray. 

“Do you want us to help hunt for anything?” he 
asked. 

“You wouldn’t find anything. I don’t believe 
that fire was set; I didn’t believe so last night. I 
think they’re over-anxious about their own barns.” 

“Is there really any talk about that fire being 
set?” Joe’s question was calm, but his eyes told of 
a different emotion. 


178 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“If there is, it’s all foolishness/’ declared Mr. 
Bray promptly. “There’s only one man within 
miles who hates me, and I wouldn’t suspect him 
of such a thing. Anyway, he was here.” 

“Do you mean — ” 

“I didn’t say any name,” broke in Mr. Bray 
sharply, “and I’m not going to; neither are you. 
But the thing I do want to say to you, so long as 
Mr. Steve isn’t here, is that everything’s all right.” 

“But—” 

“We aren’t even going to talk about such a thing, 
Joe. It isn’t worth it. Now forget the whole thing 
and go ahead with your fun. You can’t do any- 
thing more to help me, and I’m ready to do all that 
is necessary to take care of everything. Not even 
you and I are going to talk about who might have 
set that fire. It’s over and that’s all there is to it.” 

The boy recognized both the finality and the kind- 
ness of the statement. But he would have given 
much to have found Mr. Steve sitting on the steps 
when they got back to Camp Lowell. His own 
mind was so confused that he wanted to straighten 


AT CAMP LOWELL 179 

things out by talking to some one like the Scout 
Master. He would not hesitate to act could he see 
his way even half clearly, but now it was all fog 
ahead and he could not tell the mountain from the 
mole hill. All he was certain of was that he was 
imagining other people were imagining something 
about Dick Hunt. The more he thought about it, 
the more absurd it seemed. Certainly Mr. Bray 
was right; the thing to do was to forget the whole 
affair. 

But he found his decision difficult to put in prac- 
tice. In spite of himself he found himself watch- 
ing Dick, even when they all went swimming. The 
one thing which gave him real satisfaction, though, 
was that Dick showed no sign of being conscious that 
anything out of the ordinary was in the air. Joe 
had never seen even Nelse have more fun than did 
Dick during the whole of that long, bright July 
day. It was as if he were doing his best to crowd 
all he had missed in the past into a glorious pres- 
ent. 

When night came Dick was, according to Nelse, 


180 THE BOY SCOUTS 

“still going on the High.’’ “I ought to go down to 
Gillfield this evening,” he owned, “but, so long as 
I’m on the doorstep when the janitor opens the bank, 
Mr. Nelson won’t mind. Guess I’ll beat it down 
early in the morning.” 

“Some hoof!” declared Nelse. 

“Hike it before sunrise.” 

“They tell me it is nice,” chuckled Pease; “I’ll 
take their word for it, though.” 

“Might get a ride with a milkman,” suggested 
Alex. “Should think you could fix it with one of 
’em to take you down every Monday.” 

“I need the exercise. Don’t get as much as you 
fellows.” 

“You will, when you come to stay. We’ll attend 
to that.” 

“Guess we’ve all had enough lately. What 
say we turn in early so Dick can get some 
sleep?” 

They were all ready enough to follow Joe’s sug- 
gestion, nor was there a boy stirring when Dick Hunt 
crept out of his blankets before dawn. Yet, three 


AT CAMP LOWELL 181 

hours later all Camp Lowell was wide eyed. Mr. 
Bray had stopped on his way home to tell them that 
the Belknap barn, on the road to Gillfield, had been 
burned to the ground three hours before. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE TRAIL OF THE FIRE BUG 

“The thing for us to do,” declared Nelse, “is to 
hike for Belknap’s and see if we can do anything.” 

“Sure is!” echoed Harve. “If this sort of 
stuff keeps up, we’d better organize a fire depart- 
ment.” 

“Isn’t anything to joke about, Fat,” retorted Joe. 
“I don’t like the look of it.” 

“Neither do I. That’s why I say it’s up to us to 
do something. Let’s start by doing what Nelse sug- 
gests. He has to be right, some time; maybe this 
is the time.” 

Joe considered a moment. “Maybe it is,” he 
agreed. “Of course the Patrol wants to do what it 
can to help.” 

“Some one’s coming down the road,” cried Ned. 
“Listen!” 


182 


AT CAMP LOWELL 183 

Almost before they could turn, Stephen Mayhew’s 
runabout was bouncing to a stop at the side of the 
camp. “Hello, fellows !” he called. 

For once there was lack of hilarity in the answer- 
ing chorus. Their glances were fixed on the man 
at Mr. Mayhew’s side. Ned turned to Joe, his 
eyes wide with sudden fear. “It’s Chief O’Connor,” 
he gasped. 

“You been stealin’ eggs?” growled Harve. 
“Howdy, Chief ! Glad to see you up here.” 
O’Connor waved a hand as he leaped from the 
car. 

“What’s the matter, Mr. Steve?” asked Joe. 

“Nothing,” declared the Scout Master emphati- 
cally. “We’ve come up here to get a little help, 
that’s all.” 

“That’s good.” 

“Sure it is!” echoed the Chief. “Let’s all sit 
down where we can talk things over.” 

Joe ventured a second glance at Mr. May hew and 
it confirmed his first suspicion. The usually 
smiling face was serious and there were anxious 


184 THE BOY SCOUTS 

lines about the corners of the blue eyes. “You do 
the talking, Chief,” Mr. Steve suggested ; “then 
we’ll answer all your questions.” 

The others were as quick to sense that something 
was wrong, and there was no joking or crowding 
as they found places on the steps around the two 
men. “Suppose you tell ’em, Mr. Mayhew,” said 
O’Connor. 

Stephen Mayhew nodded agreement. “You have 
heard of the fire at Belknap’s this morning, I sup- 
pose ?” 

“Yes, sir.” It was Joe who answered. 

“Any of you go down?” 

“No. We were just getting ready to .start. Mr. 
Bray only told us a few minutes ago. He stopped 
here on his way home.” 

“You wouldn’t have heard this, if you had gone,” 
went on Mr. Bray slowly. “The Chief isn’t the sort 
who tells all he knows to every one. But he says 
he knows the Patrol and trusts it. That’s why he’s 
letting me give the whole story.” 

“Every bit of it,” added Chief O’Connor with a 


AT CAMP LOWELL 185 

nod. “Vm willing to put all my cards on the table 
with this crowd any time.” 

The boys sat up a bit straighter. It was not be- 
cause of this openly expressed confidence, but be- 
cause they began to realize something serious was 
coming. “Go ahead,” urged Nelse. 

“That fire at Bray’s Saturday night was suspi- 
cious,” Mr. Steve went on, choosing his words, “but 
Bray isn’t the sort who believes evil of any one. 
And he was unwilling to think it a case of arson. 
I don’t believe he’d even acknowledge the possibility 
of such a thing now, were it not for this Belknap 
fire.” 

“Was that set?” demanded Joe. 

“It was.” 

The boys gulped at the solemness of the statement. 
It began to dawn on them how serious the matter 
was. 

“How do you know?” 

Mr. Steve drew a long breath and his teeth caught 
his lip. “You tell them, O’Connor,” he said sud- 
denly. 


186 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“Don’t like to any better than you do, sir, but 
I’ll do it, if you say.” 

“Some one tell it quick,” begged Harve. 

The Chief turned to him and again nodded 
gravely. “It’s my job to investigate fires, Harve,” 
he said, “that is, when it’s thought there’s anything 
suspicious about ’em. The Belknap affair, coming 
so soon on top of the Bray one, sure looked queer. 
So I went up there at once. There was a lot of 
loose talk going on. Always is at such a time. But 
you get so you don’t pay attention to that sort 
of thing — much. What I was after was real evi- 
dence. I found it.” 

“Gee!” It was a gasp from Stan Wood. “Go 
on.” 

“I found out where the fire started. That was 
easy. Belknap saw it first in the corner of the barn. 
It was the up-wind corner. That added to my sus- 
picions. I went to where that corner had been, and 
started to kick round among the ruins. The fire 
had eaten away from there fast. There wasn’t much 
left, though, but I found what I was looking for.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


187 


“What was it?” 

“A few spots of tallow.” 

“Don’t see what that stood for,” stated Nick, dis- 
appointed. 

“No? Well, it stood for a good deal with me, 
Reed. It’s the commonest trail of the fire bug. 
Now I don’t think for a minute that any one who’s 
in his right mind sets a fire. It’s a form of insanity : 
You can’t tell who’s got it. It’s apt to crop out in 
the most unexpected places.” 

“But about that tallow?” broke in Harve, his 
fingers cold with excitement. 

“All right. The fire bug usually works with a 
lantern or a candle. Either gives him time for his 
get-away. The candle is the simpler. You 
take a candle,” he explained, “and set it up in a 
cigar box half filled with oil-soaked rags, or some- 
thing equally inflammable. You pick your barn, or 
house, tuck your cigar box into a corner, light your 
candle and beat it away from there. In time, ac- 
cording to the length of the candle, the wick burns 
down till it, sets the rags blazing. The building 


188 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


catches, then the whole thing goes. That tallow 
told me such a game had been worked at Bel- 
knap’s.” 

“Holy smoke!” 

“Who did it?” 

“Who do you suspect?” 

“I don’t suspect any one, yet,” retorted the Chief, 
even more calmly. “But Mr. Mayhew and I are 
alone in that. What time did young Hunt leave 
here this morning?” 

There was a gasp, a startled cry and half of them 
were on their feet. “Steady!” commanded Mr. 
Steve. “The Chief said that he did not suspect 
any one.” 

“He’d better not suspect Dick Hunt. Dick’s all 
right!” 

“I’m as sure of that as you are, Tug,” agreed Mr. 
Steve, “but I think the best way for us all 
to prove it is by answering the Chief’s ques- 
tions.” 

“Of course you’re right, sir,” exploded Nelse. 
“But I’ve got to get this off my chest before this 


AT CAMP LOWELL 189 

thing goes any further: because Dick made a big 
mistake once is no reason why every one should 
pick on him for everything all the rest of his life. 
It isn’t fair. It isn’t playing the game. Dick’s a 
Wolf. He’s so proud of it he’d let horses pull him 
apart before he’d do anything to hurt the Patrol. 
I don’t care what any one says, whether the Chief 
hints he’s insane or what, Dick’s all right and I’m 
for him.” 

There was a yell from the rest. There could be 
no doubt as to the feeling of the Wolves. It was 
one for all and all for one. A slow smile flitted 
across O’Connor’s face. “Wish I had such loyalty 
behind me. Suppose Lowell answers my question 
now. What time did Hunt leave this morning?” 

“I don’t know.” 

The Chief straightened, and Stephen Mayhew’s 
jaw squared. “Don’t you understand that the Chief 
is with us in this, Joe?” he asked. 

“I’m telling you the truth, sir; I don’t know. 
He had gone when we woke up. None of us heard 
him leave.” 


190 THE BOY SCOUTS 

It was O’Connor who bit his lip now. “Did he 
say anything last night about what time he planned 
to start, Joe?” 

“Only that he must be in Gillfield before the bank 
opened. Wasn’t he there?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then he must have left here about dawn.” 

“That’s what his mother says.” 

“Then why ask us?” 

“Easy, Harve!” cautioned Mr. Steve. “The 
Chief’s not trying to trip Dick; he’s really working 
to help him, I think.” 

“And,” declared O’Connor emphatically, “the 
less you fellows get hot under the collar, the more 
you’re going to aid Hunt. I want to prove his 
statements by your testimony.” 

“But why do you suspect him at all?” demanded 
Harve, still mad. 

“I didn’t say I did. But others do.” 

“Who?” 

“I’m not going to tell you that.” 

“Guess that’s sense,” growled Stan. “We 


AT CAMP LOWELL 191 

wouldn’t exactly go out of our way to be friendly 
with such a yellow pup.” 

“Keep cool,” advised Mr. Steve. “I know it’s 
hard. It’s trying my patience, too. But it’s the 
best way to help Dick.” 

“But what in thunder would Dick Hunt go round 
setting fires for?” demanded Nelse. “There’s no 
sense in this stuff.” 

“Some one did set both fires,” stated the Chief. 
“Some one’s accused HunJ of being the fire bug. 
And he can’t account for himself Saturday night 
any more than he can for this morning.” 

“He sure can!” snapped Fat. “He was out on 
the lake Saturday night when the Bray barn burned.” 

“Who saw him there, Foster?” 

“No one. He says he was. That’s enough.” 

“All right. I won’t argue that now. Where 
was he this morning?” 

“On his way to Gillfield when that Belknap shack 
burned.” 

“Certainly. That was also on the road to Gill- 
field, wasn’t it? He had to pass it, didn’t he?” 


192 THE BOY SCOUTS 

“I suppose so. But he didn’t set it afire.” 

“All right. But what I want to get at is, can 
any of you fellows give him any alibi that will hold 
water for either fire?” 

Harve started to answer but suddenly stopped 
and looked helplessly at Joe. But Lowell was only 
shaking his head, his eyes looking from boy to boy. 
They were all silent. There was nothing they could 
say which would help the boy they all wanted so 
much to help. None of them had been with him 
during the time either fire had been started; none 
knew where Dick had been during the critical mo- 
ments; none thought for a moment, however, that 
he had been elsewhere from where he had said. In 
spite of the circumstantial evidence O’Connor had 
spread before them, they believed in Dick Hunt and 
were ready to go to any length to aid him. 

It was Ned Field, who had come to know Dick 
better than most of them, who finally broke out. 
“See here, Chief,” he flared, “this stuff of trying 
to hang something on Dick is all bunk. If any 
one but you were doing it, I’d say it was only be- 


AT CAMP LOWELL 193 

cause Dick’s been in wrong once and you cops are 
just naturally suspicious of him. A goat’s needed 
and he’s handy. But you’re not that sort; you’re 
white. You’ve something else up your sleeve. I 
don’t know what, but, I’m going to take a chance 
at pulling it out. You’re trying to eliminate Dick 
because you really suspect some one else. So do 
I.” 

“Who?” The Chief’s question crackled. 

“Hanson, same as you,” Ned answered with equal 
sharpness. 

For a second the Chief’s eyes held his. “Maybe 
I do and then again maybe I can’t, Ned. Any- 
way, I’ll tell you this much; I’ve seen Hanson. I’ve 
questioned him mighty sharp. Both he and his 
wife say he was home in bed when both fires started. 
Her confirmation of his alibi would hold in any 
court. It lets him out.” 

“But who says Dick would do such a thing? Tell 
us that,” demanded Nelse. 

“No. You fellows would do your best to play the 
game, but you couldn’t help showing your feelings 


194 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


and that might spoil everything. I’m not going to 
make any statements till I can prove them. I 
wouldn’t have come to you now if I hadn’t been as 
anxious as you to clear things up. Maybe Hunt 
didn’t do anything, but I don’t like the way every- 
thing seems to be lining up against him. I hoped 
some of you could establish an alibi for him.” 

“We don’t need one,” declared Nelse. 

“I’m afraid he’s going to,” said the Chief grimly, 
as he rose. “You fellows own he has a bad record 
behind him, and you’re his friends. What are other 
people going to say?” * 

Stephen Mayhew, too, rose. He had come to 
Camp Lowell to allow the boys to talk and he was 
more than satisfied with both their words and spirit. 
“I’m as certain as you all are,” he stated, “that 
things are not going to prove black for Dick. I 
trust him as fully as each of you does. I want the 
whole thing cleared up and I want Dick cleared. 
And I’m so sure that he can be cleared that I’m go- 
ing to let O’Connor offer a reward of $500 for in- 
formation leading to the capture of this fire bug.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 195 

‘‘That sure shows where you stand, sir.” 

“It’s like you, Mr. Steve. The Mayhews sure 
play the game.” 

“We try to, Nelse,” he agreed. “But this means 
a little more to me than it does even to the farmers 
up here. I’m not thinking of all our own property, 
either. O’Connor, I’d like to give you that five 
hundred personally. I hope it’s you who solves the 
problem.” 

“I’m going to do my best, sir,” agreed the Chief. 
“And I’m going to start doing it by asking you to 
take me back to Gillfield so’s I can talk with young 
Hunt before he leaves the bank.” 

“All right,” he assented, starting for the car. 
“Naturally you fellows won’t talk about this,” he 
called back. 

“Of course not, sir.” 

“But we’re going to do a heap of thinking,” prom- 
ised Nelse, and stalked moodily into the camp. 

The two men had little to say as they rode back 
to Gillfield. Each was too busy with his own 
thoughts to desire interruption from the other. 


196 THE BOY SCOUTS 

O’Connor was disappointed, however, when, on 
arriving before the bank. Mr. Steve refused to go in 
with him. “If we both went,’’ he said, “the boy’d 
put far more weight on our visit than there’s ex- 
cuse for.” 

“Have it your own way, Mr. Steve,” agreed the 
Chief. “I’ll ring you up when anything new de- 
velops.” He waved a good-by and strolled into the 
bank, to come to a halt by Mr. Nelson’s desk. “Let 
me have five minutes alone with young Hunt?” he 
asked. 

“What’s wrong, Chief?” The Scout Commissioner 
made no effort to conceal his anxiety. 

“Don’t know as anything is. Want to know 
what he knows about a fire up country this morning.” 

“But surely you can’t connect that boy with it in 
any way. Don’t let what did happen allow you to 
persecute the youngster, O’Connor. We trust him 
implicitly.” 

“Glad to hear it. Can you send him into the 
director’s room and let me wait there?” 

“Yes.” Mr. Nelson rose slowly, his face clouded. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 197 

He was anything but pleased with O’Connor’s 
method of approach and, when he spoke to Dick, 
his tone was unusually friendly. The boy smiled 
confidently as he listened to the request, and the 
smile was still on his lips as he went through the 
bank and into the director’s room. 

“Hello, Chief! What can I do for you?” he 
asked. 

“Don’t know — yet. Hear about the fire at Belk- 
nap’s ?” 

“No. When? Why,” he added suddenly, 
“Belknap’s farm is right near our camp. I came by 
there this morning. Everything was all right then. 
What’s happened?” 

“Barn burned.” 

“Gee! Like Mr. Bray’s did Saturday night. 
Say, Chief,” he exclaimed, his face suddenly sober- 
ing, “you don’t think there’s anything queer about 
the combination, do you?” 

“Dunna quite what to think. Both of ’em burned 
to the ground and no one seems to have much idea 
how either fire started.” 


198 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“Wish I could help you. I didn’t notice any one 
around Belknap’s when I came by there this morn- 
ing.” 

“Did you look especially?” 

“Don’t believe I did — especially. It was pretty 
early. I was watching to see where I’d find the first 
people awake.” 

“Where did you?” 

“On that farm at the foot of the mountain.” 

“What time was that?” 

“Ten minutes past five. I looked at my watch.” 

“Belknap discovered the fire at five. You must 
have passed his place about quarter of.” 

“May have been a few minutes later. I ran some 
on the down grade.” 

“And you didn’t see any one?” 

“No.” 

“Hadn’t seen any one till you came to that farm 
at the foot of the mountain?” 

“Only the fellows at camp. And they were 
asleep,” Dick answered promptly; “they wouldn’t 


count.' 


# AT CAMP LOWELL 


199 


“What did you do after you got to Gillfield 

“Got my breakfast, then came — ” Dick stopped 
abruptly, his face becoming ashen. “You don’t — ” 
he gulped, “you don’t think I — I had anything to — to 
do with those fires?” 

“Did you?” The Chief’s question snapped out. 

Another change came over the boy. If he had 
wilted under the sudden knowledge that the finger of 
suspicion was again pointing at him, he now stiffened 
as quickly. His head was up and his eyes were 
steady as he looked O’Connor in the face. “You 
know I didn’t,” he said. “I was crooked once but 
now I’m a Scout.” 


CHAPTER X 


UNEXPECTED CONFIDENCE 

Dick Hunt stood alone by the big mahogany 
table as the Chief stalked out of the bank. For a 
moment he was calm and cool; the next, and his 
hands were clutching the table’s rim. O’Connor 
thought him guilty ! His past was rising to threaten 
him. No matter how hard he had tried, he had been 
unable to live down his record. There was nothing 
he could do to prove his innocence ; no one who could 
furnish him with the vitally necessary alibi. He 
had been trusted and he had tried to make himself 
worthy of that trust, and now his very helplessness 
was to stain those who had been his friends in time 
of need. 

He swayed as his knuckles, clutching, grew white. 
The room was whirling around him. From every 
side some crushing force came closing in on him. 


200 


AT CAMP LOWELL 201 

Alone, he could not contend against it. And he 
was alone. He felt there was none to help him. 
His head sank forward and his eyes filled. But, 
as they did, they settled on the gleaming badge upon 
his chest. He was a Scout and he wore the Scout 
emblem. He had told the Chief that, but the tell- 
ing had brought him nothing like the quick comfort 
the presence of that badge did now. The fellows 
had trusted him because they believed in him. He 
knew, in spite of all, that he was worthy of that 
belief. 

The slender shoulders began to straighten, the 
strong young neck to stiffen, and the haze to clear 
from before the blue eyes. One course of action 
was open to him and one alone. The thing was 
here ; it must be met four-square. It should be met 
by a Scout who was unafraid to look any man in the 
eye. 

A minute later he strode out of the room with 
firm step and went back to his work, his lips set, 
his courage high. But there was another in Gill- 
field whose conscience was not so calm. 


202 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


Stephen Mayhew, after leaving O’Connor, had 
started for the office but, as he went, he blamed him- 
self more and more. It was the first time he had 
ever turned his back on one of his boys when trouble 
was in the air. Yet this time he had acted for what 
he believed would be Dick’s comfort. Going in 
there with the Chief would have made it seem 
that he, too, thought there was ground for suspi- 
cion. 

Although he had acted through kind-heartedness 
alone, it troubled him, and, within the hour, the big 
runabout again came to a stop before the bank. He 
entered the enclosure about Mr. Nelson’s desk with 
a nod and drew up a chair. “O’Connor say any- 
thing to you, George?” he demanded abruptly. 

“Something. Why?” 

“This thing’s worrying me. If that boy is given 
another smash, it is more than apt to ruin his whole 
life. I’m convinced O’Connor is making an ass of 
himself; I hope he does nothing more serious. Has 
he broken the boy all up?” 

Better see him and form your own opinion,” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 203 

suggested Mr. Nelson, and touched a button set 
into the edge of the desk. 

A moment later Dick came through the narrow 
passage in the rear of the counter. But it was not 
the Dick Mr. Steve had feared to see. The man 
settled back in his chair. ‘‘Hello!” he said easily. 
“How’d you leave everything at camp?” 

“Better than things have been there since, I guess, 
sir.” 

“So you’ve heard about the Belknap fire?” 

The boy’s face sobered and he nodded assent, his 
eyes fixed on the two men. 

“I think every one has by now, Steve,” offered 
Mr. Nelson, drily. 

Mr. May hew was quick to perceive that the Com- 
missioner was out of sympathy with his mode of 
questioning, and quick to decide on a new course 
of action. “What I came in here for,” he an- 
nounced, “was to tell you we need another man in 
our office, Dick, and to see if you cared to take the 
position.” 

This time the slender figure stiffened and the head 


204 THE BOY SCOUTS 

went back as if struck sharply on the chin. “Does 
that mean that you want to get rid of me, Mr. 
Nelson? Is this an easy way of letting me down?’* 

The banker smiled. “It’s all news to me,” he an- 
swered; “we’re more that satisfied with you and 
your work. We don’t want to lose you; neither do 
we want to stand in the way of your bettering your- 
self.” 

“I don’t think I quite understand.” 

“I don’t know as I do, either,” agreed Mr. Nelson. 
“Let Mr. Mayhew do the explaining.” 

Mayhew laughed grimly. “That’s right,” he 
said; “put me entirely in the wrong. Dick, I don’t 
beat about the bush with you Wolves, as a rule; 
I’m not going to now. I know about O’Connor’s 
call here and I can imagine what he said. What I’m 
trying to do, and making a mess of, is to show you 
that the Mayhews believe in you and are going to 
stand by you.” 

The boy flushed scarlet. “Thanks,” he said, in a 
very low voice. “That helps a lot.” Suddenly he 
straightened again and his eyes met Mr. Steve’s. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


205 


“I’d like to work for the Mayhews,” he said, “but 
I’ll never leave Mr. Nelson as long as he wants me. 
He stood by me when I was down. He gave me my 
chance to make good. It’s the only way I can 
show him my gratitude — doing that and by being 
straight. And I am straight, Mr. Steve. I don’t 
know a thing about that fire. But, if I left here now 
and went to you, people might think Mr. Nelson 
didn’t believe in me any more and wanted to get 
rid of me. That’s selfish, I know, but I’ve only got 
a little bit of reputation and I’m going to guard 
that.” 

“You’re right,” declared Mr. Steve; “your place 
is here and I’m glad to know you’re facing this 
thing unafraid.” 

“There’s nothing for me to be afraid of,” the boy 
answered simply. 

“Is there anything you’d like either of us to do? 
I’m sure Mr. Nelson is as ready as I to do all in his 
power.” 

“I certainly am,” agreed the banker. “It’s a big 
satisfaction to me to have Dick meet this injustice 


206 THE BOY SCOUTS 

with his head up, and I’m as sure that he’s going to 
come through it, clean as he knows he is.” 

Dick’s brain had not been idle during the past 
hour and, now that they gave him the chance he 
had planned to make for himself, was quick to ac- 
cept it. “I was to have my vacation in August,” 
he said; “I’d like it ever so much if things could be 
arranged so’s I could take it now.” 

“What are you going to do?” 

“Go up to camp, if you all will let me. I’m go- 
ing to be where people can find me. I don’t want 
to avoid any one or any thing. O’Connor, or any 
one else, can watch me all he wants. If there are 
other fires, people will know where I am. I’m not 
going to run away from anything and I want to be 
where I can keep my own eyes open. I’m not go- 
ing to take this thing with my hands in my pockets. 
I want a chance to do more than protect myself.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” he answered evenly, “that it means even 
more to me than it does to Chief O’Connor to catch 
the person who set those fires.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 207 

Mr. Nelson understood but, in spite of the sympa- 
thy he felt for the boy’s courageous avowal, smiled 
quietly. “I think I can arrange to let you go to- 
morrow,” he said. “But, frankly, Dick, I wouldn’t 
let my hope of solving the affair unaided rise too 
high. It seems to be bothering O’Connor a good 
deal and he’s a man of much experience. Of course, 
like any one else, he makes mistakes. We feel he’s 
made one in this case already but, as soon as he 
finds it out, he’ll rectify it immediately and do it like 
the man he is.” 

“You don’t have to defend the Chief to me,” 
cried Dick. “I know him and I like him.” 

“By George!” exclaimed Mr. Steve. “I’ll say 
you’re game, Dick. I couldn’t take this thing the 
way you’re taking it.” 

“I’m sorter thinking,” acknowledged the boy, in 
a low tone, “that I’m taking it just the way you 
would, were you in my place. It’s what’s giving 
me the sand to go through with it.” 

“That’s some compliment, Steve!” declared Mr. 
Nelson. “You certainly have your job cut out to 


208 THE BOY SCOUTS 

live up to the ideal the Wolves have made for you. 
But I think Dick’s quite right; you’ve trained your 
Patrol to meet things four-square ; any of them have 
yet to show the white feather. But I think this boy 
here is doing the bravest thing of all. He’s not 
avoiding trouble; he’s going a6 far as he can to 
meet and conquer it on its own ground.” 

“He is,” agreed Mr. Steve. “What are we going 
to do to help him?” 

“Let him alone,” advised Mr. Nelson. 

“It’s what I’d like to do, but it seems heartless.” 

“It isn’t,” stated Dick. “I think you both be- 
lieve in me ; I think the fellows at camp will, when 
they know all about it. Really, I’m trying to look 
on it all as good luck instead of bad, for it’s going to 
give me a chance to show I’m worthy of being a 
Wolf.” 

“All right,” agreed Mr. Mayhew. “Fight your 
own battle, Dick, but don’t forget you have reserves 
within call, if you need us.” He got up and reached 
for his hat. “Do you care to tell us what you plan 
to do?” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


209 


“I haven’t any plan. Some one up there is try- 
ing to make trouble for me, and I’m going to make 
sure who that is first.” 

“Meaning you suspect Hanson?” 

Dick met the sharp look evenly. “I don’t want 
to be unjust even to a man like Hanson,” he retorted. 
“The Chief appears satisfied that Hanson had noth- 
ing to do with either of these fires.” 

“If that’s true,” said Mr. Steve, “be mighty care- 
ful if you get anywhere near him. He’s ugly and 
has had it in for all of us, for some reason or other. 
Don’t give him a chance to trap you.” He nodded 
to Mr. Nelson and started for the door. “I’ll send 
you up to Camp Lowell in the morning, if you 
want.” 

“Thanks, sir, but I guess I’ll get myself up there, 
if you don’t mind.” 

“I don’t. Tell the crowd I’ll be up in a day or so, 
and good luck to you !” He nodded again to them 
both and went out. 

“Do you want anything more of me?” Dick asked. 
“No.” 


210 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“Thank you, sir.” He, too, turned and left Mr. 
Nelson busy again at his desk. But it was hard work 
to rivet his attention on the figures before him. He 
wanted to get out and begin to do something. It 
was almost too hard to sit there and follow routine 
work accurately when everything he held dear was 
at stake. Yet he knew he must do it, and he knew 
even better that he must do something far more 
difficult. He must keep his own courage high. 
There must be no surrender to sensitiveness, 
no more of choosing the easier way, no more avoid- 
ance of people who might look at him askance. He 
had nothing to conceal, nothing to be afraid of. He 
was a Scout and a Scout is brave. 

One thing troubled him deeply, however. He 
was more than worried lest some hint of the Chief’s 
attitude should reach his mother before he could 
see her again. So, when his luncheon hour came, 
he raced home, knowing the one thing to do was to 
tell her the full story as he knew it; and, mother- 
like, she gave him greater courage by her un- 
shaken faith. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 211 

It was on his way back to work that his nerve 
was put to a sudden test. He had felt that the Fox 
Patrol had never liked him. Even during their 
visit to the lake, it had seemed to him that they 
had accepted him merely because he was a Wolf 
and in spite of the fact that he was Dick Hunt with 
a past. So now, when he saw Bill Long strolling 
down the street, habit urged him to cross over and 
avoid him. But then his new resolve flared and he 
continued with even step. 

Just then Bill spied him. Dick, walking, thought 
he detected a sudden narrowing of the eyes and 
tightening of the lips; but before he could be sure, 
Bill raised a hand to shade his eyes, and pretended 
to scan the surrounding scenery as if he were a 
dime novel plainsman in search of the hated Red 
Skin. "‘Hist!” he exclaimed. “Hast seen it?” 

“Seen what?” 

“The fire bug.” 

Dick’s heart missed a beat but he managed to keep 
the half smile on his face. “What’s the idea?” he 
asked evenly. 


212 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“Still got your neck way back in your shell, have 
you ? Why don’t you crawl out once in a while and 
hear what’s doin’? Don’t you know about the re- 
ward the Mayhews have offered?” 

“No.” 

Bill whistled. “Always knew you guys were 
more than half asleep,” he comforted. “Guess I 
won’t give the snap away. Not that you Wolves 
would make any difference, but you might blunder 
round till you’d gummed things up worse than 
you usually do. We Foxes have got that five hun- 
dred spent already.” 

Dick, adding two and two with what he already 
knew, reached an answer which seemed fairly ra- 
tional. But he wanted proof of its correctness. 
“Tell it all,” he begged. 

“Sure! Heard of those fires around Camp 
Lowell, haven’t you? All right. The Mayhews 
have offered five hundred dollars reward for the 
capture of the person who set them. I’m hunting 
that person; so’s everybody else in Gillfleld. Ex- 
cuse me a minute while I give you the once over.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


213 


He grinned as he grabbed Dick’s shoulder and spun 
him around. “No,” he proclaimed, “not guilty. 
You’re too slow to set even the Wolves afire. 
Whist ! Who comes ?” And again the hand shaded 
the piercing eyes. 

Dick smiled in spite of himself. Yet it was the 
most relieved smile he had ever known. Certainly 
here was one who held no suspicion, else he would 
never have made a joke of such a serious thing. 
And this boy was one whom Dick had not felt he 
could call friend! Again his heart seemed to miss 
a beat. But the sensation was entirely different 
this time. “Quit joking, Bill,” he begged, suddenly 
warm all over, “and give me the whole story.” 

“Have. We Foxes are out for that reward. 
O’Connor tipped us off to keep awake. He knew 
where to come for help, that bull,” grinned Bill 
modestly. “And, say, Dick, slip this to Joe and 
the rest: we fellows are out for blood. You got 
the Foxes all stirred up at camp. We’re goin’ to 
have one near you and this is where we earn the 
dough to get it with. Anything you chaps do to 


214 THE BOY SCOUTS 

get in ahead of us will be considered unfriendly. 
You’ve got yours; don’t be hogs. Now beat it! 
My time’s worth a million dollars a second and I 
can’t waste any more fortunes on you. And say, 
old scout,” he added suddenly, “next time you see 
the Chief, tell him from me he’s a fat-head.” 

It was as unexpected as the clip he gave Dick 
between the shoulders before he tore up the street 
in pursuit of something or other he pretended to 
have seen. But it left Dick almost ready to sing. 
In his own way Bill Long had said that he had 
heard the whole story and put absolutely no faith in 
O’Connor’s theory. It meant even more to him 
than had the expressed confidence of Mr. Nelson. 
The boys, who had despised him, now believed in 
him. It was good indeed to be a Scout. 


CHAPTER XI 


AN ATTACK FROM BEHIND 

Dick approached Camp Lowell the next after- 
noon with something more than a feeling of self- 
consciousness. Under the circumstances, it was 
only natural that a boy should experience a sensation 
of dread as to his possible reception. But this was 
dispelled like rocks which sit too long on a nervous 
stick of dynamite. As soon as he came in sight 
there was a yell, a rush, a melee and then Ned 
Field had him by the ear and was leading him up 
the steps. 

“He’s robbed the bank,” he shouted. “He was 
headed for Canada with the swag. There’re thou- 
sands and thousands of tame nickels concealed in 
his pack. He was desperate but I overcame him. 
My middle name’s Pinkerton and I’ll now show 
you how to give the third degree.” 

215 


216 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“Quit it!” begged Dick, fighting to recover his 
bundle before it was spread over the surrounding 
scenery. 

“What are you doing here, anyway?” 

“Got my vacation now.” 

“Mean they’ve waked up at last and fired you,” 
corrected Harve. “Tell the truth, my son. You 
can’t surprise us.” 

“How’d you happen to get it now, Dick ?” 
queried Joe. 

“Asked Mr. Nelson to let me change the date. 
Thought I’d like to be up here now.” 

“Why?” 

Dick’s face sobered. “Because,” he announced, 
looking round the group, “I thought I’d like to be 
where things have happened, as long as the Chief 
thinks I made them happen.” 

There was an instant’s astounded silence, then 
Bedlam. Ten seconds later none had legitimate 
excuses to plead ignorance as to the belief of the 
Wolves in Dick Hunt. Had the Chief appeared 
at the moment, he would have heard discomforting 


AT CAMP LOWELL 217 

news as to his professional ability and personal in- 
telligence. 

It was Joe who put an emphatic end to the erup- 
tion. “Dick knows where we stand,” he declared, 
“and slanging the Chief doesn’t get any one any- 
where. This thing is a Patrol affair now. We’re 
all together; we’re all in it. It means as much to 
each one of us as it does to Dick. We’ve always 
acted as a crowd; we’ll do it now.” 

“But what’ll we do?” asked Tug anxiously. 

“We’ll do our best to catch that fire bug,” 
declared Joe. 

“We’re not the only ones trying,” observed 
Dick, and told of his talk with Bill Long. 

Nelse Pease treated himself to a real laugh. 
“I can see that Fox outfit pulling off this thing,” 
he said. “Every time anything comes up, those 
guys are going to get famous. I’ll bet they’ve 
spent that five hundred ' six times this morning, 
and are fighting now about whether they’ll have 
a kitchen in their new camp or buy a motor 
boat.” 


218 THE BOY SCOUTS 

“They’re good chaps,” protested Dick; “Bill was 
fine to me.” 

“Why shouldn’t he be?” demanded Nelse. “That 
didn’t cost him any part of his five hundred. Did 
he say whether they were going to paint their shack 
blue or light pink?” 

“I’d like to see ’em have a place near us, just 
the same,” observed Harve. 

“Sure you would! You’ve got some scheme 
cooked up, all right, by which you’ll share your 
work with one of ’em.” 

“We could get in a lot of ball games, if they 
were up here,” sighed Alex. 

“I’m off ball till all the big game’s killed out of 
this country,” stated Nelse. “As for the Foxes 
getting any reward or camp, let’s talk of something 
sensible, like building a battleship in the swimming 
hole or Stan’s having the nerve to serve us another 
soup souffle.” 

“Or your doing something useful,” grunted Stan. 
“You don’t have to eat what I cook, if you don’t 
like it.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


219 

“Not so long as the canned stuff lasts, I don’t,” 
agreed Nelse promptly. “Some one chuck Dick’s 
stuff inside, so long as he’s too lazy to, and let’s do 
something.” 

“What?” 

“Anything except walk on tip-toe so you can 
sleep in that hammock, you big beef!” Nelse 
tried his best to glare at the placid Foster. 

“Let’s go fishing then.” 

“Oh, have a heart ! Give that poor fish one day 
off.” 

“I know what two of us are going to do,” 
stated Ned. “Dick and I are going up to the 
Brays’ after supplies. He’s got to do some work.” 

“That suits me,” Dick agreed promptly. “I’d 
like a chance to talk with Mr. Bray.” 

“That pair’s too willing,” observed Harve. 
“There’s somethin’ doin’ up there in the way of a 
party. We’ll all go.” 

They were all ready enough to visit the farm 
on any sort of excuse. Their new room had to be 
inspected at least once a day, and Mrs. Bray en- 


220 THE BOY SCOUTS 

joyed their running in and out of her house quite as 
much as the boys did. Stan was the first to start 
through the woods, and Dick was about to follow 
when Ned caught his arm. 

“Don't you go galavanting off like a gladsome 
butterfly, you bank robber/’ he commanded. 
“There’re two baskets, a pail, and fourteen million 
milk bottles that some one’s got to tote ; and you’re 
half the supply department, now you’re officially in 
camp.” 

“I want to do my share,” declared Dick; “show 
me where they are.” 

“Nothing in the world would give me more 
pleasure; nothing, except to have you carry ’em 
all. Come on. We’ll catch up with you gentle- 
men of leisure,” he called after the rest. “Take 
it easy so you won’t get all tired out lifting your 
feet.” He hurried into the kitchen, Dick at his 
heels; but once inside, he began to move more 
slowly. “Let ’em go,” he suggested. “I want to 
have a good, old talk with you.” 

“Go as far as you like.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 221 

“You mean that?” He had paused in packing up 
the milk bottles and looked at Dick. 

“I certainly do, Ned.” 

Field nodded, satisfied. “Thought I had you 
sized up right. Just what is there in all this mess, 
old fellow?” 

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “The Chief didn’t 
talk with me much. I gave him my word I knew 
nothing, but I don’t think he believed me.” 

“The big puff-ball !” 

Dick shook his head as he picked up his load. 
“He can’t forget I’ve been guilty of a worse thing, 
Ned. I think more’s happened than I know about. 
Some one’s accused me of setting both fires and, 
because I can’t prove an alibi for either one, he’s 
got to suspect me because there’s no one else to 
blame the thing on.” 

“Anybody’d think you were arguing this thing 
for O’Connor,” he growled. 

“I’m trying to see it as he does, so’s I can get 
some place to start working from. You can’t see 
it my way because you’ve always been straight. 


222 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


I’ll be suspected of every rotten thing that happens 
in Gillfield for the next ten years. I’m in luck 
not to have been arrested already. I guess I would 
have been, if it hadn’t been for Mr. Steve.” 

“Rot !” 

“I wish it were,” sighed the boy. “It’s fine of 
you to be so decent about it.” 

“Decent!” exploded Ned. “Don’t you think the 
whole crowd’s rabid because one of us is suspected. 
O’Connor’s about as popular up here as Hec’s 
little friend. See here,” he broke out, as they 
turned into the path to the Brays’ place, “don’t you 
think the best thing to do is to have a Patrol 
meeting and talk over what we’d all better do?” 

“I’d rather not ; I can talk with you better than I * 
could with the crowd.” 

“But Joe?” he pleaded. “Joe’s always got 
ideas.” 

“I’d like to try it alone, first, I guess,” he an- 
swered slowly. “I’ve told you I’ve got to find a 
starting point. Have you heard anything up 
here?” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 223 

“Heard some one say it’d be like Hanson to set 
those fires.” 

“The Chief’s followed that idea. Hanson had 
perfect alibis. He’s cleared.” 

“But hadn’t you thought of him, Dick?” 

For a moment he was silent. “Yes,” he con- 
fessed, “I had. But that’s between us. Hanson 
said he’d get me for that row we had on the road, 
but even a man like Hanson wouldn’t turn fire 
bug just to get even with a boy.” 

“The Chief says most fire bugs are insane.” 

“I’ll be — if this thing keeps up.” 

It was almost a groan. Ned took one quick 
step and his arm went about the slender shoulder. 
“Don’t talk about it any more, old fellow,” he 
comforted. “I wanted to help; I always like to 
share my hard luck. I thought it would make it 
easier for you, if you talked. I won’t mention 
it again. None of us will. But every one of the 
fellows is on the job every minute, just as I am; 
and when you need us, we’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks.” 


224 THE BOY SCOUTS 

It was Ned who quickened the pace and started 
the fun as soon as they overtook the rear guard. 
The Patrol was in its true form when it romped 
into the Brays’ yard, Hec trying to bark his head 
off, Harve singing at the top of his lungs, and 
Nelse and Nick doing their best to upset Alex at 
every step. Mr. Bray and his two hired men 
straightened from their work among the ruins of 
the barn to watch the fun, and then the farmer, an 
amused twinkle in his eye, called to Lowell. “Send 
those Indians over here to work off their steam.” 

“Go to it, gang!” ordered Joe. 

“And get my lily-white hands all smudged up?” 
fumed Fat. “What do you think I came here for? 
I’m no cinder hound.” 

“I choose to carry the half-burned shingles,” 
announced Nelse; “I have to be careful of my back.” 

“He strained it carrying a cup and saucer into 
the kitchen,” Ned explained, as the crowd raced up 
to Mr. Bray. “Also he got a bad blister picking 
flowers. Grab that beam, you wop, and heave!” 

“Here, wait !” commanded the farmer, as the boys 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


225 


sprang to lift the big timber. “That goes over 
on the other side. I can use it in the new barn. 
Only the trash on this side. Hello, Dick, when 
did you come?” 

“Just a little while ago, sir.” 

“Going to stay?” 

“For two weeks.” 

Mr. Bray nodded, but his glance lingered on the 
boy a moment before he bent to his task. “You 
chaps don’t have to do this, you know,” he said, 
as his crow-bar dug deep. “I was only joking 
when I ordered you over.” 

“Haven’t anything else to do,” confessed Joe. 

“Just as soon as you’re tired, then quit. 
Mother’s baking some pies for you, I reckon.” 

“I’m all worn out,” declared Harve, promptly 
dropping his end of the beam. “Tug, tell Hec 
there’s a rat under this mess and let him dig it up. 
We’ll go right up and see if Mrs. Bray doesn’t 
want us to dust the sweet peas.” 

But it was quite two hours later before Mr. Bray 
drove a decidedly dirty crowd ahead of him to the 


226 THE BOY SCOUTS 

house. The boys had neither looked for, nor 
wanted, reward for their work. Nor did the 
Brays consider the feast set forth as one. They 
liked the Wolves and hospitality was their means 
of showing their affection. It was not until 
Mrs. Bray’s baking had been thoroughly sampled, 
and the baskets packed with what had escaped, 
that Nelse decided to make sure the Wolves’ winter 
quarters were still upstairs. Five started to go 
along as a body guard and, as Dick followed in 
their wake, Mr. Bray laid a hand on his arm. “Seen 
my new chickens ?” he asked. “Come take a 
look.” 

“All right.” Dick knew which sort of chickens 
laid eggs, and there both knowledge and interest 
ceased. But, from the expression on the kindly 
face, he knew it was but an excuse and quickly 
followed out into the yard. 

It came with startling suddeness. “Don’t think 
I’d stay up here, if I were you, boy,” offered the 
man, in a grave voice. 

“Why?” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


227 


“Because there are a lot of people round here 
who’re sorter nervous an’ might do things they 
were sorry for later.” 

Dick drew a long breath. “I suppose/’ he said, 
“that means they think I had something to do 
with those fires.” 

“Maybe. Anyway it means they won’t stop to 
talk, if they see you round their places.” 

“Do you think I started your fire?” 

“Know ye didn’t, boy. Don’t know who did, 
but know you didn’t. But I don’t want any of you 
in trouble, and people up here are all het up.” 

The boy’s teeth set over his lower lip. “Why 
should they pick on me?” he demanded. “Who 
started them suspecting me? Tell me that.” 

“Hanson.” 

“I thought so.” 

“Why?” 

“Because of that row the other Saturday. But 
there’s more behind it than that,” went on Dick. 
“He’s had it in for the Mayhews ever since he’s 
lived here. He thinks he can hit at Mr. Steve and 


228 THE BOY SCOUTS 

the Old Boss through me. If I run away, he’ll 
say it’s because I’m guilty. That’s why I came 
here. With me here, he’ll try something, if I’m 
the victim he’s after.” 

“That’s a good move, but it’s foolish. He’s too 
crafty for you.” 

“Probably,” confessed Dick. “But, between you 
and me, he’s the one I — I’m not going to say it, even 
to you,” he finished quickly. 

“Needn’t be afraid to talk with me.” 

“I’d rather not talk with any one until I know 
what I’m talking about,” he stated. “And I do 
thank you for your kindness. But I’m going to 
stick.” 

“You’re old enough to decide for yourself,” 
agreed the farmer, in a rather disappointed voice. 
“I hope you aren’t making a mistake. But stick 
with the boys ; whatever you do, don’t go off alone.” 
With which, he turned and went back to the porch 
to speak with Joe before he returned to his work. 

Dick appreciated the wisdom of that advice, but 
how to follow it, and still follow out the plan al- 


AT CAMP LOWELL 229 

ready more than half formed in his brain, was 
something more than he could solve. It was not 
that he did not want to take any of the Wolves 
into his confidence but that he was certain that 
what he wanted to do could be done better 
alone. 

Yet he was so deeply grateful to Mr. Bray, both 
for his faith and his interest, that all that afternoon 
he hardly left the camp veranda without asking 
Ned to go with him. Nelse, who could not go 
many hours without something to laugh about, be- 
gan to notice Dick’s new-born desire to keep both 
feet in Ned’s shadow. “Why is it,” he sighed, 
“that no one ever falls in love with me?” 

“Probably,” comforted Fat, “because none of 
your near-friends are blind.” 

“But I need affection, Fatness.” 

“What you need most is a wallop in the eye.” 

“It might mar my fatal beauty, dear one.” 

“I’d like to see it tried,” confessed Harve. 

“You always were rough,” murmured Nelse; 
“rough and uncouth. I think I prefer Hec.” 


230 THE BOY SCOUTS 

“Hec’s had one piece of hard luck; why wish a 
worse one on him ?” 

“But see how the grateful Field flourishes under 
the tender friendship of Dick. Wouldn’t you like 
to see me flourish, also, Harvey?” 

“Oh, cut it out!” growled Ned. “You fellows 
go do something useful and leave me alone.” 

“Such as what?” 

“Drown yourself first.” 

“I think Harve would prefer your second sug- 
gestion. Personally, I’m in favor of your third.” 

“Wish I didn’t have anything to do but exercise 
my face. Go help Stan and Nick get supper.” 

“We’re unpopular in the cook shack,” owned 
Harve. 

“What do you think you are here?” 

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” sighed Nelse; 
“we’re lonesome for your companionship. Here 
comes Dick again. Suppose he wants you to hold 
his hand while he walks down to the lake and 
plucks a pond lily for his hair.” 

“Stan says we need more milk,” announced 


AT CAMP LOWELL 231 

Dick, joining the crowd. “I’m going up to the 
farm for it. Want to come, Ned?” 

“No, I don’t,” declared Field impulsively, his 
nerves a bit sensitive. 

“All right. I’d just as soon go alone. I’ll be 
back so’s you won’t have to wait supper, fellows.” 
And, with a wave of the hand, he darted along 
the path which led to the Bray place. 

He gave his neglect of the farmer’s advice no 
thought until, as he came out of the woods into the 
highway, he noticed a ramshackle buggy coming 
toward him. A moment later and the bony 
horse was yanked to a stand close in front of him 
and Hanson was snarling over the dash. 

“Whatcher doin’ up here again?” he demanded. 
“Don’t O’Connor know nothin’ bout his business? 
You lemme tell yer this, young feller; if he don’t, 
we folks up this away do. Ye git out o’ here ’fore 
there be more trouble, an’ ye git quick.” 

“What are you talking about?” asked Dick 
coldly. 

“Ye know what I’m talking about, an’ don’t ye 


232 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


give me none o’ yer back talk. Me an’ a lot o’ 
others up here’s through talkin’. We’ve been 
watchin’ ye close; we’ll keep watchin’ ye close till 
ye git out. Ye start gittin’ now.” 

“I won’t and you can’t make me.” 

Hanson had not expected deliberate challenge. 
For a second he was too angry to speak. Then, in- 
stead of a flood of invective, a crafty smile crinkled 
his mean face. “Can’t I?” he sneered. “If I 
can’t, we’ll see what O’Connor an’ I kin, young 
feller. Ye’ve had yer warnin’ ; now take what’s 
cornin’.” He lashed his horse and Dick barely had 
time to leap into the ditch to prevent being run 
down. 

Yet, instead of hurrying to Mr. Bray with the 
story, he stood watching Hanson disappear around 
a dusty curve. He knew it was open war now. 
There was some comfort in that. It was better to 
know whom to fear than to look on every one as 
an enemy. But what he could not understand was 
why Hanson should declare that he was the fire 
bug. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 233 

He supposed he could fulfill his threat by at least 
telephoning to the Chief. But Dick could see small 
additional danger in that. He had made no secret 
about coming to Camp Lowell. O’Connor must 
know he had joined the boys and that he could be 
found at any time, if wanted. The last thing he 
intended to do was to leave. In some way he felt 
that this would suit Hanson’s purpose quite as 
much as it would fail to meet his own. 

As he started on, he thought he had best recount 
the whole incident at the farm and ask advice. But 
then he knew that he would take none, unless it 
coincided with his own determination to stay and 
follow this affair to an end. He frankly sus- 
pected Hanson of at least knowing all about what 
had occurred. He would watch Hanson, if he 
could; he would catch him, if possible, but he would 
not run away from him or from anything. 

But how he would carry out the first part of his 
resolve was a question. The temptation to take 
Ned into his confidence was great. The more he 
saw of Field, the better he liked him and the more 


234 THE BOY SCOUTS 

he trusted him. Together they could work better 
than Dick could alone. He decided to take that 
step that very evening, and he felt sure Ned would 
give him whole hearted support. 

It was because of this decision, and his eagerness 
to get back to camp and through supper so as to 
talk with Ned, that he spent no time at the farm, 
not even stopping to see Mr. Bray. It was already 
dusk and he knew the farmer was busy with his 
own work; and, while he was always ready to chat 
with any of the boys from camp, there was no 
reason to encroach upon his good nature now. 
So, with the milk bottles, received from Mrs. Bray, 
in each hand, he trotted back down the road and 
swung into the woods. 

Among the thickening pines dusk grew almost 
to darkness, but Dick gave that no thought. He 
knew the way, he knew the woods, and he knew 
himself. Also he knew it was more than supper 
time and, because of this, quickened his already 
fast pace. 

The path wound in and out among the trees 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


235 


and through the thickets, and was rough enough 
so that it was necessary for the flying Dick to keep 
his eyes on the ground. He did not want to stumble 
and risk a fall which might break the bottles and 
necessitate a return to the farm. Then, as he swung 
a sharp turn, he did stumble. 

Something thin and strong had caught his ankle. 
He staggered, plunged, crashed headlong to the soft 
ground. There was a sharp crash of broken glass, 
a sharper grunt of triumph from the brush behind 
him and the next instant two knees struck his 
back, something rough and stifling was wrapped 
about his head, and two strong hands closed about 
his throat. 


CHAPTER XII 


WHAT MR. STEVE SAW 

Tug Wilson, near the foot of the supper table, 
set down his glass with a sigh. “If you feel ais 
bad as all that about it,” suggested Nelse, “have 
some more. Fat, drive the cow this way.” 

“Tug’s out of luck,” stated Harve; “milk’s all 
gone.” 

“Dick went — ” Ned stopped short. “Where is 
Dick?” he demanded. “He ought to have been 
back before this.” 

“Probably Mrs. Bray asked him to stay there 
for supper,” said Tug. 

“He wouldn’t have stayed,” stated Ned; “it’s 
his job to get the milk here. He wouldn’t fall 
down on it. Joe, something’s wrong.” 

Lowell, at the head of the table, shook his head. 
“Guess not,” he answered. “Something or other’s 


236 


AT CAMP LOWELL 237 

keeping him. He isn’t as used to it here as 
we all are, and he’s gotten interested in some- 
thing or other and has forgotten to come 
back.” 

“He’ll show up in a minute full of enthusiasm 
over some rabbit track or squirrel trail,” promised 
Nelse. “He’s always tracking something or other 
now.” 

“He oughter practice on cows,” declared Harve. 
“Shoot me the bread, Tug.” 

But Ned was not ready to accept Dick’s failure 
to return promptly so casually. He did not think 
it like him to neglect any part of his work. He 
began to review the afternoon in his mind and, be- 
cause he found no comfort there, his thoughts went 
still further into the past. And what he remembered 
made him leave his half finished supper and stroll 
onto the veranda. 

Dick was not in sight, nor did he hear any sound 
which foretold his coming. As he stood on the edge 
of the steps, Joe joined him casually. “What’s 
wrong?” he asked. 


238 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“I wish I knew; all I’m sure of is that something 
is.” 

“What makes you think so?” 

“Dunno. Just a hunch.” 

For a moment both were silent. “Want to 
take a walk?” asked Joe suddenly. 

“You bet!” 

“Be back in a minute, fellows,” Joe called to the 
rest. “Ned and I are going up to the farm.” 

“Think anything’s happened to Dick?” Tug’s 
face was anxious as he came to the door. “Hadn’t 
we all better turn out and hunt for him?” 

“Guess not. I still think he’s at the Brays’. 
Come along, Ned.” 

They started at a jog but, as soon as they were 
well into the woods, Ned slowed to a walk. “I 
don’t like this,” he reiterated. “I’m sure we won’t 
find him at the farm.” 

“What do you think? Let’s have it all.” 

“I don’t even want to think it. I like and trust 
Dick. I know he’s all right. But he’s more than 
suspected, or O’Connor wouldn’t have talked so 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


239 


much. He’s disappeared once before; we’re not 
going to find him now. There’re all sorts of rotten 
possibilities in this.” 

“I think you’re making a heap of trouble out of 
nothing at all,” contended Joe. ‘Tm as sure Dick 
was on the lake when the Bray fire started as you 
are. The Belknap fire was just coincidence.” 

“It will be almighty bad coincidence for Dick if 
anything happens before we can find him now,” 
growled Ned. “He’s taken a big chance. He 
ought to have more sense. If he’s gone hunting 
this fire bug alone he’s doing the very thing the 
fire bug wants him to do. Whoever it is knows 
Dick’s under suspicion, you can bet your life on 
that. And he’s going to do all he can to strengthen 
that suspicion. It’s better than any alibi for the 
fire bug. Dick’s being made a goat of. That 
makes me mad enough, but what makes me madder 
is to have him go off alone and make a goat of him- 
self.” 

“There’s something in that,” admitted Joe. “I 
never thought of it in that way when he told me 


240 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


he was going to try to clear himself. Wish I had. 
Fd have ordered him to stick with one of us. We’ve 
got to find him. Come on!” 

They raced to the farm at top speed. But 
Dick was not in the Bray kitchen. The farmer’s 
face was grave as he listened to their story. “I 
told him this morning not to go off alone,” he re- 
called. “There’s more than one man up here who 
believes Chief O’Connor’s on the right trail. You 
boys get back to camp and turn out the whole Pa- 
trol. Don’t talk, but find Hunt and find him 
quick.” 

If the two had come fast, they returned faster. 
Hope was high that Dick would be waiting them 
at camp. But they knew, as soon as they saw the 
quiet group on the steps, that he was not there. 

Joe did not bother to ask questions. “Patrol 
attention!” he snapped. “Either Dick’s lost or 
something’s happened to him. Are the boats all 
here, Alex?” 

“Yes.” 


“Then he isn’t on the lake. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 241 

“Might have gone round the other shore and 
borrowed one over there,” suggested Alex. 

“Might have. Take a canoe, Alex; if he’s on 
the lake, find him. Report here at ten or, if you 
see a fire here on the point before then, come in at 
once. We’ll start one as soon as Dick’s found.” 

“Good!” Alex raced toward the landing. 

Joe turned to the rest. “Tug, take Hec; and 
you and Nick Scout the Gillfield road. Harve, you 
and Stan take the other side of the lake. Don’t any 
of you talk much if you meet people. No one’s 
to know Dick’s missing.” 

The four were off almost before he had finished 
speaking. “Ned and I’ll take this shore,” he went 
on. “Ned, you go south; I’ll go up this way. 
Nelse, you stay in camp. Get the fire ready on the 
point and start it the second you see Dick.” 

The Wolf Patrol had played since it had been at 
Camp Lowell, but now it went on active duty 
with a swift silence which showed its efficiency 
better than anything else could have done. Almost 
before Joe’s voice died away, Nelse was alone on 


242 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


the steps. The next second he, too, had disappeared 
into the night. That brush heap to be built on the 
point would be waiting for the match when the 
first glad shout rang through the gloom announcing 
that the missing Dick had been found. 

“How’d we better work?” Tug’s voice shook a 
trifle as he asked the auestion. 

“I’m not quite sure,” Nick confessed, as they came 
out of the woods into the main road. “J oe didn’t 
want us to ask too many questions. I don’t see 
how we can do anything without asking some.” 

“If Dick has come this way,” Tug said, as if 
thinking aloud, “it’s because he’s headed for home. 
I think we ought to get to a telephone and ask his 
mother if he’s there.” 

“But if he isn’t, and if he doesn’t show up there 
soon, it’ll scare her half to death. And we can’t 
tell her not to ask folks in town if they’ve seen 
Dick.” 

“Mr. Steve?” suggested Tug suddenly. 

“Sure! Why didn’t we think of him before? 
He’ll find out if Dick’s there, or expected there. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 243 

If he isn’t, we need Mr. Steve up here anyway. 
Come on.” 

They were off at real speed now, but even as they 
ran to that telephone they kept their eyes open in 
passing the scattered houses. There was no reason 
to suppose Dick was in any of them, but they over- 
looked no possible clue. When, at last, Nick heard 
Stephen Mayhew’s voice on the wire, he panted 
out their distress, feeling the first hints of relief he 
had experienced that evening. “All right,” he fin- 
ished, “we’ll keep on till we meet you and we’ll sing 
or whistle all the time.” 

“Gee!” sighed Tug, as Nick hung up; “it’s good 
to have him to help.” 

“But that’s all he will do,” stated Nick. “The 
Patrol’s out and Joe’s in command. Mr. Steve will 
advise, but he’ll leave the rest up to the Wolves.” 

“And we won’t fail him,” stated the little fellow. 
“Come on, Hec. Find Dick!” 

As they started for the mountain road, a canoe 
was shooting along the southern end of the lake. 
Alex knew every little bay and point. When no 


244 THE BOY SCOUTS 

one would play catch with him, fishing took up his 
time, and he knew his hours afloat would count 
now; but, of far more value, would be the memory 
of every landing and boat. In his own mind there 
was no question as to where Dick was. For some 
reason or other, sufficient to himself alone, Dick 
had chosen to repeat his former expedition on the 
water. Alex, knowing the camp boats were all 
accounted for, knew his task was to discover where 
a boat was missing from its mooring. He might 
run across the boy before he found out which craft 
was missing. If so, all the better. If not, he 
felt sure Dick would have gone to the upper end of 
the lake, where he had said he had been on that 
other night. 

But boat after boat was in place. His paddle 
was biting deeper now. There was only one more 
which Dick could h'ave borrowed. Ahead, he could 
see the mouth of the stream which fed the lake. 
The canoe raced around the little point. Alex saw, 
drawn up on the beach, the outline of a skiff. Dick 
Hunt was not on the water. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


245 


He heard the sound of running feet on the path 
leading down to the landing. The next instant 
Harve Foster appeared on the beach. “Any luck?” 
he called, as soon as he saw the canoe. 

“No. Found anything?” 

“No.” 

“What are you going to do now?” 

“Begin on the paths. He may have fallen and 
been hurt. Stan’s searching them further back. 
We’re going to meet on the Fuller beach. Where’re 
you goin’ ?” 

“Don't quite know. Guess I’d better circle the 
lake again.” 

“Better give the Patrol call once in a while, Alex. 
We’re going to. Dick may hear and answer.” 

“Good idea. Don’t think he’s on this side of the 
lake, though. Couldn’t get across and wouldn’t 
walk way round. Nothing to make him.” 

“Guess that’s right. But we’ll keep on looking. 
We’ve our orders. So long!” 

“G’by!” Alex’s paddle bit again, and Harve 
swung around and vanished. 


246 THE BOY SCOUTS 

From far down the lake came the two short, sharp 
yelps of the Patrol call. Alex’s head went up but 
he did not answer. He knew it was Ned calling to 
Dick. A full minute passed. Then the cry went 
up from near at hand, as Harve, too, called. Another 
minute and, faintly, he heard the same cry far down 
the shore. Stan had found no trace of the missing 
boy. Alex waited anxiously to hear if the call 
would be repeated from the opposite shore. A min- 
ute passed, then another, and another. But Joe 
Lowell was still working in silence. 

Joe, on leaving camp, had returned at once to 
Mr. Bray’s. He knew he could rely on the big 
farmer, and he wanted him to know that Dick was 
still missing. Nor had he underestimated the man’s 
anxiety. “You’ve got to find him and find him 
quick,” he declared. 

For a moment the boy looked him full in the 
face. “Do you expect anything to happen?” he 
asked. 

“I don’t expect; I’m afraid.” 

“So’m I. Dick hasn’t an alibi now. Fm — ” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 247 

He stopped abruptly. ‘‘Good night,” he called, and 
waved his hand as he darted for the road. 

For fifteen minutes he walked cautiously then, of 
a sudden, wheeled, vaulted a fence, and disappeared 
into the shadows. He was still in those shadows 
when he hard the call from the lake. But he heard 
them only as secondary things. It was because his 
whole attention was centered on something else that 
he, too, did not call, — because of that, and for fear 
that, if he so much as moved a hand, he might de- 
stroy Dick Hunt’s one chance. 

Yet, if anxiety was growing in intenseness about 
the shores of Forest Lake, it was also tightening 
the nerves of a man in Gillfield. Stephen Mayhew 
had wasted no time in starting his runabout for the 
Hunt home. From what Dick had told him, he had 
not expected to find him there. In that, at least, 
he had not been disappointed. He had managed to 
put his questions in such a way that Mrs. Hunt’s 
fears had not been aroused, but for some reason 
which he refused to analyze, his own were doubled. 
As he jumped into his machine again he looked 


248 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


down the empty street as if hoping to see the missing 
boy coming toward him. But not even a shadow 
moved. His hand reached to release the brake, and 
then the big car ran smoothly down the hill headed 
for the open road. 

He was afraid to drive at full speed lest he pass 
Dick without seeing him. Yet he met but few 
people and none were boys. It was not until he 
came to the foot of the mountain that he saw two 
figures under his lights. The car slid to a stop and 
Tug and Nick jumped to the running board. “Found 
him ?” they panted. 

“No. Got any trace of him here?” 

“No.” 

“He isn’t behind me. Get in and we’ll go to 
camp. Hold Hec, Tug; we’re going fast.” 

They did. Neither boy had dreamed a car could 
roar up the mountain at such speed. For once, Hec 
was glad to bury his nose in Tug’s coat and keep 
still. But, as they came over the crest and out onto 
the plateau, Mr. Steve suddenly brought the car 
to a stop. “What’s that !” he demanded sharply. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 249 

They both looked. In the distance a rosy glow 
appeared over the tops of the trees. “They’ve found 
him,” cried Tug. “Nelse has lit the fire on the point. 
It’s the signal.” 

“What point?” 

“That one in front of camp.” 

“That’s a mile the other side of camp,” stated the 
man in a voice which shook in spite of his every 
effort. “It’s another fire.” 

“Wha — wha — ” 

“It’s another fire,” he repeated, this time savagely, 
as his foot smothered the accelerator. “Hold tight 
and pray some Wolf’s found Dick Hunt.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


NELSE CAPTURES A SHADOW 

Nelse Pease, seated alone in the darkness on the 
outermost rock of the point before the camp, saw 
that same faint pink glow turn to angry crimson. 
And, while it turned, he thought faster than he had 
ever thought before. Only too well he guessed its 
cause, placed it on the Slade farm. Behind him was 
the shoulder high brush pile he had built. Unlit, it 
meant that Dick Hunt was still unfound. But up 
the lake roared another fire which might have a far 
heavier meaning. 

He knew the Wolves were scattered, that probably 
no two were together; that farmers, half-crazed 
by the knowledge that a fire bug was at large in 
their midst, would be in a state to demand explan- 
ations for the whereabouts of every one; and he 
came to his decision quickly. The Patrol must be 


250 


AT CAMP LOWELL 251 

called together. Leaping up, he ran to the pile and 
thrust a match into the nest of birch bark he had 
placed in its heart. An instant more, and the point 
was as light as day. 

He was back on the rock now, his hands cupped to 
his mouth as he filled his lungs. Then out over 
the lake rang the rallying cry of the Wolf Patrol. 
From out on the lake came an answer. He knew 
Alex was driving home, his paddle bending under 
the full strength of his lean, strong arms. From 
the opposite shore first Harve, then Stan replied, 
not once, but twice, and he knew they were running 
at top speed. Then, far to his right, Ned took up 
the cry; but from the left came only silence. Again 
and again his high, clear voice rang out. But still 
Joe Lowell was silent. 

From behind him came the scream of a siren. He 
merely wondered what that could be. Again it 
sounded. It was nearer now. He turned and saw 
the glare of headlights against the pines. Once 
more he called for Joe. An answer came, almost 
from the camp. But three voices responded instead 


252 THE BOY SCOUTS 

of the one he most wished to hear. A moment 
later he heard the scream of a brake, then saw three 
figures dash past the camp and into the circle of the 
flame. “Mr. Steve!” he cried. 

“Where are the rest?” The Scout Master’s 
question was sharp and tense. 

“Coming in.” 

“Dick here?” 

“No.” 

“Any trace of him?” 

“Don’t think so, sir.” 

“That fire wasn’t to be lit unless he was found, 
was it?” 

“No, sir.” Nelse thought there was reproof in 
the query. “Thought it best to rally the Patrol, 
sir.” 

“Right! Where’s this other fire?” 

“I think it’s on the Slade farm.” 

“Who’s up that way?” 

“Joe. But he hasn’t answered me.” 

“Probably gone to Slade’s,” declared Mr. Steve as 
a quick frown flashed across his forehead. It was 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


253 


not like Joe to fail to heed that rallying cry. 
“How long will it take the others to get 
here?” 

“Can’t tell. They’re coming as fast as they 
can. There’s Affex, now. Harve will be longest. 
Twenty minutes, maybe.” 

Mr. Steve nodded. He had come with very defi- 
nite ideas about what should be done. But he also 
had equally strong convictions about having these 
boys act on their own initiative. Nelse had done 
the right thing at the right moment. The Scout 
Master looked at him with steady eyes. “Joe left 
you in charge here?” he asked. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Very well. We’ve rallied on you; you’re in 
command until you turn over to him. What’s 
your plan?” 

“To stay here until they all come in. If Dick 
comes, we’ll all go to Slade’s and help. If he 
doesn’t, I’ll stay here and send the rest.” 

“Good! Only thing to do. I’ll take them in 


the car.” 


254 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“You get any trace of Dick, Tug?” It was the 
first chance Nelse had had to question either Tug 
or Nick, yet he knew questions were useless. Had 
they had anything to report, it would have come 
out long before. His lips closed the tighter as 
Tug only shook his head. 

“I found none,” offered Alex. “That fire’s 
as bad as the Bray one. Must be another barn. 
Wish the others would hurry.” 

Ned arrived, panting, a few minutes later. 
“Who found Dick?” he demanded. 

“No one. Want the Patrol together. How far 
behind you is Harve?” 

“Dunno. What’s doin’ ?” 

“Listen! Hec’s barking,” cried Tug. “Some 
one’s coming.” 

“It’s Fat, probably.” 

They waited silently until the big fellow pounded 
up to the camp. There was no need to waste time 
in questions. His face told his story. “Go 
ahead,” ordered Nelse. “Mr. Steve needs you all. 
I’m going to stay here.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 255 

“What if Dick comes?” called back Mr. May- 
hew. 

“I’ll keep him with me — if he comes. Don’t 
stay any longer than you have to,” he added long- 
ingly. “I want to know what’s doin’.” 

“O’Connor’s been over on the other side of the 
lake this evening,” called back Harve. “I cut 
his trail at a couple of houses. If he shows up 
here, don’t tell him all you don’t know, Nelse.” 

“No, nor all I do,” the boy muttered. “Not 
till I’ve found out why Joe doesn’t show up, any- 
way.” He picked up another arm full of brush 
and threw it on the fire. As it began to crackle, 
he heard the car start and knew he was alone again. 
Up the lake, the bigger fire seemed to be dying 
down. He turned his back on it and peered down 
the lake. He would have given all he had, could 
he have seen either of the missing boys returning, 
especially Dick Hunt. 

The big car, with its overload, made a speed 
which showed Mr. Steve’s anxiety. Before they 
had gone far along the road there was no longer 


256 THE BOY SCOUTS 

question as to where the fire was. They could see 
only too clearly that the big Slade hay bam was 
a furnace. It was the Bray conflagration over 
again, except that here no live stock was endan- 
gered. The boys were out of the car almost be- 
fore it reached the farm yard. ‘‘Wait!” com- 
manded Mr. Steve sternly. “You fellows istick 
with me.” 

He got out with a deliberation which was almost 
more than they could stand. With equal coolness, 
he led the way into the yard. There seemed a 
strange lack of excitement among the group col- 
lected. They appeared dazed and dumb. There 
was nothing the men could do but let the fire burn 
until it died from lack of food. The wind was 
strong, but in the right direction. The other 
buildings were not threatened. Mr. Steve was 
quick to size up the situation. So far as the fire 
was concerned, they could be only spectators. His 
eyes began to search the crowd for the two miss- 
ing boys. 

He had not gone half way across the yard when 


AT CAMP LOWELL 257 

a hand clutched his arm. He turned to find 
Chief O’Connor’s face close to his. “Got all the 
boys with you, Mr. Mayhew?” 

The thing he had dreaded had come, but he met 
it as he met everything. “No,” he answered 
evenly; “three of them are not here.” 

“Who?” 

“Joe Lowell, Pease, and Dick Hunt.” 

A glint stole into the Chief’s eyes. “This fire 
was set, same as the other two,” he stated with 
equal calmness. “Think I’d like to find young 
Hunt.” 

“So would we. But not for the same reason. 
You’re absolutely wrong, O’Connor.” 

“Maybe I am. I want to give Hunt a chance 
to prove it, though.” 

“Hasn’t Joe been here?” 

“Haven’t seen him.” 

“Then that’s all the more reason for you to go 
slow, Chief. Pease is at the camp. I know where 
all but the two have been. But I know no more 
about Joe than about Dick Hunt, except that he 


258 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


came up this way over two hours ago and none 
of us have seen or heard of him since. My cards 
are all on the table; that’s all I know, except that, 
if Joe Lowell is unaccounted for, it is for some 
mighty good reason. He’d be here helping Slade, 
unless he had something much more important to 
do. So long as he isn’t here, I’d be a bit cautious 
about accusing the other missing boy until both 
were found, if I were you.” 

“Thanks for the advice,” retorted the Chief. 
“I know you think the kid’s all right. I don’t 
think it’s anything he can help, myself ; he’s 
crazy, that’s all. He probably doesn’t even know 
what he’s done, let alone realize the seriousness of 
it. But these men up here do. They’ve got to be 
protected.” 

“I’m not going to argue about it, O’Connor,” re- 
torted Mr. Mayhew shortly. “I’ve given you my 
advice twice. You didn’t put faith in my hint 
that we’ve had trouble with one man up here.” 

“Hold on!” broke in the Chief. “I don’t neg- 
lect Mayhew tips. And I didn’t that one. Han- 


AT CAMP LOWELL 259 

son’s furnished good alibis twice. Jim Donovan’s 
up here now with me. I’ve sent him to find out 
where Hanson is to-night. Here he comes now.” 
He turned to his associate, who had come hurrying 
up. “Well?” he snapped. 

“Safe in bed,” announced Officer Donovan. 
“Had to wake ’em up. Mrs. Hanson called me 
proper for disturbin’ ’em.” 

“All right.” The Chief turned to Stephen May- 
hew, a smile of triumph on his face. “Satisfied?” 
he asked. 

“See Hanson, Jim?” 

“No sir,” chuckled the policeman. “Didn’t have 
to. The old woman said he was tired an’ ugly 
an’ wouldn’t get up less I was lookin’ for real 
trouble.” 

“Can’t say I admire your thoroughness,” 
growled Mr. Steve and walked away. 

“Leave him alone, Jim,” warned the Chief. 
“He didn’t mean anything. He’s all broke up. 
Young Hunt’s missing again. He’s our bird. 
We’ve got to land him to-night. You sneak down 


260 THE BOY SCOUTS 

to their camp and lay for him. I’ll drop down 
later and pick you up.” 

“Right, Chief.” 

Donovan turned and started south toward Camp 
Lowell. The last thing in the world he would do 
would be to disobey an order. But he hated his 
task. He believed in the boys, and he liked Dick 
Hunt for the way he had faced trouble and won 
the respect of the Wolves. Not even the Chief 
could make him change his opinion that his supe- 
rior was making a grave error. He swung dog- 
gedly along through the night, his head shaking 
from time to time, his slow brain seeking an an- 
swer to all which had occurred. 

But while the Chief was laying plans for further 
action, Mr. Steve was not idle. He singled Slade 
out of the crowd and got him alone for a moment. 
They were long-time friends and the farmer told 
him all he knew in a few words. Like the Bray 
and Belknap fires, this one had started in the wind- 
ward corner. It was well under way before dis- 
covered. He could offer no reason for its start, 


AT CAMP LOWELL 261 

except that some one must have set it. He didn’t 
suppose he had an enemy in the countryside. He 
suspected no one, and he volunteered the informa- 
tion that the boys at Camp Lowell were about the 
best friends he had. Certainly he suspected none 
of them. Both he and Bray knew them. He 
didn’t care what other men thought or said. 

As the two men separated, Ned Field came up 
to the Scout Master. “Doesn’t seem to be anything 
for the Patrol to do here, sir,” he said; “don’t 
you think we’d better get back on our real job? 
We ought to find Dick.” 

Mr. Steve looked at him evenly. “How are 
you going to do it?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” Ned acknowledged. “Carry 
on as we were, I guess. Joe’s usually right about 
such things, and until he shows up, I reckon it’s 
best to keep up the search as he organized it.” 

“Have you any theory about where Joe is?” 

“No, but I’ve got a hunch.” 

“Let’s have it, Ned.” 

“He couldn’t have helped hearing the rally. He 


262 THE BOY SCOUTS 

didn’t answer because he’s found something some- 
where which is important. He’d be the last one 
in the Patrol to disobey that call without a mighty 
good reason. He can’t find us up here, if he needs 
us, because he doesn’t know we’re here. We ought 
to get back.” 

“I think so, too/’ agreed Mr. Steve soberly. 
“But I don’t quite agree with you about sending 
out the Patrol until Joe does turn up. I think I’ll 
keep you all at camp until I hear from him.” 

“But Dick?” 

“I’m putting even more faith in Joe’s absence 
than you are, Ned. I think he’s either found him, 
is on his trail, or has discovered something which 
is equally important. Get the fellows together 
and we’ll go back. We’re no use here.” 

It took Ned but a few seconds to round up the 
boys and start them for the road, where they had 
left the car. Within three minutes they were on 
their way to Camp Lowell; and only red coals 
glowed where the Slade barn had loomed but a 
short time before. But they left behind a group of 


AT CAMP LOWELL 263 

savage farmers who, each moment, became more 
insistent that this fire bug be run to earth and 
punished. 

Back on the point before the camp, Nelse Pease 
sat by his fire and wondered what had happened at 
the Slade farm. He had watched the red in the sky 
turn to soft, glowing pink, then die down, and out. 
He had listened for the expected cry from Joe until 
his ears ached. The growing wind in the pines 
behind him was his only answer. He had given 
up all hope of Dick’s appearing out of the dark- 
ness, but he thought Joe might come at any mo- 
ment. And as the minutes passed, he became more 
and more anxious. 

Then, of a sudden, he heard a dead branch snap. 
It sounded as if it came from behind the camp. 
The wind was not high enough to break the pines. 
It might be Joe. It might be Dick. Yet either 
would have called as they came home. The fire 
on the point would have been reason enough for 
that. He was on his feet, peering into the dark- 
ness. No second sound came. 


264 THE BOY SCOUTS 

He knew he had not imagined it. What had 
already occurred that night made his every nerve 
taut. He took half a dozen quick steps. He was 
between the fire and the camp. Of a sudden he 
realized that, were any one there, he was outlined 
against the flames, the most prominent thing on 
all the point. Before he thought, his voice rose 
high. “Who’s there?” he demanded. 

But the only answer was silence and the noise 
of the wind in the pines. 

There was something in the air which made his 
flesh tingle. “Who’s there?” he repeated. 

No sound came from the woods behind the camp. 

Why he should have become suspicious, he never 
knew. A dozen things might have caused that 
branch to snap. Yet he gave none a thought. 
Something told him that something was wrong. 
That silent voice was all he heeded. “Who’s 
there?” he reiterated, and started for the corner of 
the camp on the run. 

Before he had taken twenty steps, he slid to a 
halt. Among the shadows of the pines he saw a 


AT CAMP LOWELL 265 

deeper shadow move. “What do you want?” he 
demanded. 

Again there was no reply. 

Then it came over him. It was the fire bug. 
He was going to destroy their camp. Nelse Pease 
did not know what fear was, but he had his first 
taste of red anger. He started forward, head 
down. There was a crash in the brush, the pound 
of fleeing feet. He knew he had guessed correctly. 
But, whoever, it was, he had a long start. Instinct, 
rather than caution, brought Nelse to a stop. His 
hands cupped over his mouth. The rallying call of 
the Wolves rang out through the night. 

From far up the road he thought he heard the 
answering scream of Mr. Steve’s siren. He did 
not wait to make certain. Again he plunged for- 
ward. If they were returning from the Slade 
farm, the Patrol would watch the camp. His work 
lay ahead. It was his job to follow that speeding 
shadow. It had gone northward and up the hill 
behind the camp. It would be a long, hard chase. 
That was all he thought of. The danger to a 


266 THE BOY SCOUTS 

lone boy in pursuing a desperate fugitive never 
occurred to Nelse. 

He was among the trees now. It was pitch 
black. He could see nothing. He knew there 
was a path to his right, edged toward it. The fire 
bug, if he knew the woods, must have taken to 
this in his flight. Nelse, head back, increased his 
speed. 

He could hear nothing now. He had covered a 
good hundred yards, and wondered how many 
miles he must go. Then, out of the blackness, two 
strong arms clutched him. His heart came into 
his throat but his fists struck out with all his full 
young strength. He knew what fear was, now. 
But it was the fear of failure, the fear of being 
caught and made helpless with purpose unaccom- 
plished, the fear of quitting without fighting to the 
very end. 

His knuckles sang home. He heard the sharp 
grunts of pain. He tried to wrench free, to get 
a better swing. “Quit!” urged a voice which was 
strangely familiar in spite of its agony. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


267 


“Who are you?” he panted. 

“Nelse! Stop! It’s me.” 

Nelson’s hands fell to his sides. The whole 
world was reeling. His faith in everything 
wavered like a candle in a draught. “You!” he 
gasped. “Oh, Dick !” 

“What are you slugging me for? What’s the 
matter?” 

Nelse steadied himself against a tree. “What’s 
the matter?” he repeated dully. “Don’t you real- 
ize it was me by that fire? Didn’t you hear me 
call? Don’t you know I saw you?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t try to bluff,” he commanded, suddenly 
erect. “I know. I thought you were all right. 
We all did. We believed in you. You were a 
Wolf.” He stopped, tried to think clearly. It 
was more than he could bear. He saw the future, 
saw the fellows broken-hearted, saw the Patrol, 
which he loved, dishonored; and, without weigh- 
ing other things, he obeyed impulse. “Beat it!” 
he commanded. “Get as far from Gillfield as you 


268 THE BOY SCOUTS 

can and go fast. We’ll give you a start somehow. 
But give me that Scout badge first.” 

“You’re crazy!” cried Dick. “What’s hap- 
pened?” 

“You know more about it than I do. Don’t 
waste time. Get out.” 

“You’re crazy! Come back to camp.” 

“That’s the last place you’re going near,” 
shouted Nelse, and grabbed at him. But he was 
too late. Dick was speeding along the path to the 
lake. Nelse heard him ahead, tried to overtake 
him, knew he could not, and yelled a warning at 
the top of his lungs, hoping some of the crowd 
was already there to protect the place from this 
traitor in their midst. 

His breath came in a great, glad gulp as he heard 
an answer to his call ring through the woods. 
“Catch him!” he shouted. “He’s insane.” On 
the road, leading to the camp, the siren shrieked. 
Nelse knew Mr. Steve and the boys were almost 
back. But his hope was in that voice which had 


AT CAMP LOWELL 269 
answered first. It could only be Joe Lowell. But 
Joe would need quick help. With all his speed 
and strength, he left the path and went crashing 
through the brush on a straight line for the camp. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE TRAIL IN THE GRASS 

Stephen Mayhew, hearing the shouts to his 
right as he drove down the rough lane, could not 
imagine what new trouble had come. But he was 
a man who acted even while he thought. He in- 
creased his speed until he feared the jarring jolts 
would hurl some of the boys into the brush. 
“Hang tight!” he commanded. “We’re needed 
down there.” 

A moment more and it seemed as if he hurled 
the big car by main strength around the last turn. 
The headlights swept across the clearing before 
the camp, steadied, as the car slowed to a stop, and 
under their beams he saw two boys rush together 
and throw their arms about each other. Then, be- 
fore he or any of those with him had time to seek 
explanation for such an unexpected show of af- 
270 


AT CAMP LOWELL 271 

fection, a third came whirling around the corner 
of the camp and dived headlong. The three went 
down in a tangled, struggling heap. And, as if to 
complete Stephen Mayhew’s utter astonishment, he 
heard Nelse scream, “Hold him, Joe. Don’t let him 
loose!” 

He was out of his seat in a flash, the rest at his 
heels. A fight among the Wolves was an un- 
dreamed of thing. And what was occurring before 
the steps was nothing else. “Stop that!” he com- 
manded, his voice shaking with anger. “What are 
you thinking about?” 

Those who had come with him were dumb- 
founded. It was bad enough to see three Wolves 
locked and struggling; it was worse to see Mr. 
Steve blaze into rage. They halted, aghast, as he 
sprang forward, grabbed Nelse by the collar, and 
jerked him to his feet. 

“What do you mean by this?” he snapped. 

Nelse, rubbing his hand across his eyes as if 
dazed, suddenly pulled himself together and 


272 THE BOY SCOUTS 

straightened. “There’s the missing Dick Hunt,” 
he snapped back; “let him talk.” 

Joe Lowell jumped to his feet, but Dick, pant- 
ing, did not try to rise. Bewildered, he looked up 
into the Scout Master’s face. “When did you 
come?” he asked. “Oh, but I’m glad to see you!” 

“It’s mutual. Where have you been?” 

“Just up there in the woods,” the boy answered 
dazedly. “I — ” 

“Tell the truth,” commanded Nelse. “They’ll 
know sooner or later. Give it to ’em straight and 
get it over.” 

“Let Dick talk, Nelse,” ordered Mr. Steve. 
“Don’t worry about not getting your chance to ex- 
plain.” 

“I don’t quite know what did happen,” Dick 
gulped. “I was coming back from the Brays’ and 
some one up there in the woods grabbed me from 
behind, threw something over my head, and tied me 
to a tree. It’s taken me ever since to work loose.” 

“That’s a likely story, young feller,” announced 
a voice from behind him. “Guess you’ll have to 


AT CAMP LOWELL 273 

do better than that for the Chief.” Officer Don- 
ovan stalked into the group and laid his heavy hand- 
on the boy’s shoulder. “I want you,” he stated 
grimly. 

“Go slow with that stuff, Jim!” Stephen May- 
hew’s voice was even, but there was no mistaking 
the command in it. He stooped and, grasping 
Dick’s hand, lifted him to his feet. “Do you know 
that Slade’s barn has just been burned to the 
ground?” he asked. 

The boy swayed as if the man had struck him 
in the face. He saw it all now, comprehended to 
the full how things had closed in upon him. “No,” 
he said in a low voice. 

The rest were absolutely still. They, too, began 
to appreciate the seriousness of the situation. But 
Dick did not notice them; his eyes were fixed on 
Mr. Steve. “No,” he repeated. “I knew some- 
thing must be wrong; I heard the rallying cry. I 
tried to answer but that bag thing was over my 
mouth then.” 


“Who attacked you?” 


274 THE BOY SCOUTS 

“I don’t know. It was dark. He was behind me.” 

“You must have some suspicion. You’ve got 
to be absolutely frank, Dick. Who do you think 
it was?” 

“There’s only one person down on me up here 
that I know of. But I don’t think even he’d do 
such a thing.” 

“Who’s that?” 

“Hanson.” 

“No good, son!” broke in Donovan. “You can’t 
squirm out that way. Hanson’s home and in bed.” 

“That’s where you make your first mistake, Mr. 
Donovan.” It had been like Joe Lowell to allow 
others to talk until he could see his own way 
clearly. Now he took one step forward and faced 
the officer, his jaw square. 

“What do you know about it?” demanded Don- 
ovan. 

“A good deal that you evidently don’t. The 
rest drew closer. Joe had exploded one bomb; 
they knew what was to come would be even more 
jarring. “When we missed Dick after supper,” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 275 

he went on coolly, “I turned out the Patrol to find 
him. But, instead of hunting Dick myself, I 
hunted some one else. I went to Hanson’s house 
and hid in the yard. I saw him go out at eight 
o’clock. I saw you come there about 9 130. I 
heard Mrs. Hanson bluff you off. Hanson hadn’t 
come back. He was not in the house. He hasn’t 
been there since. I think he caught Dick and tied 
him up so he’d be missing when he set that third 
fire. Hanson’s your man, not Dick Hunt.” 

It was Harve Foster who let out a whoop of 
triumph. But Mr. Steve checked it before the rest 
could join in. “Go slow!” he commanded. 
“That’s mostly surmise. Joe, it’s good work, but 
all it really proves is that Hanson wasn’t where 
Donovan thinks he was. It brings him into it, but 
it proves nothing against him. We’ve heard you 
and Dick; Nelse must have something which will 
explain his actions. Let’s have it, Nelse.” 

If ever a boy had been torn between suspicion 
and knowledge, it was Nelson Pease. He had liked 
Dick Hunt, had admired his quiet ways, his 


276 THE BOY SCOUTS 

manner of keeping in the background, his bravery 
in facing trouble, and his loyalty to the Wolves. 
Then had come the crash. He had caught him 
sneaking up to the camp, challenged him, chased 
him, captured him fleeing, given him a chance to 
escape. Now Mr. Steve demanded the truth. 
Nelse would have lied for no one. But, since Joe 
had spoken, he would have given his right hand 
to have been out in the middle of the lake alone. 
‘Til only ball things up worse,” he protested un- 
comfortably. 

‘‘Out with it!” commanded Mr. Steve. 

Nelse bit his lip. He could not look at Dick, he 
didn’t want to see Mr. Steve’s face when he told 
his story. He turned to Joe as if for relief. “I lit 
that fire on my own responsibility,” he said; “I 
called in the Patrol when I saw the Slade fire.” 

“Never mind that part, Nelse; what really hap- 
pened? Why did you jump all over Dick a few 
minutes ago?” 

“I was over there alone by my fire. I heard a 
noise back of the camp. I called. No one an- 


AT CAMP LOWELL 277 

swered. It flashed over me that the fire bug was 
after our camp. I ran here, saw some one duck 
into the woods. Then I followed and,” he added, 
in a dull, low voice, “I caught Dick.” 

“Guess that’s about all,” declared Donovan. 
“Your own crowd prove him guilty, Mr. May- 
hew.” 

“But I was the one who caught Nelse,” protested 
Dick. “I hadn’t been near the camp. I was just 
coming down here. I’d just gotten loose. It 
was some one else who was here.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“It must have been. It wasn’t me.” 

“That won’t hold water,” growled Donovan. 
“You’re it, Hunt.” 

“Just keep cool, Jim,” warned Mr. Steve. “Sup- 
pose we let Dick lead us to the place where he was 
tied. If he’s telling the truth, and I won’t believe 
he or any other Wolf would do anything else, we’ll 
find the things he was bound with.” 

“He’s sharp enough to provide the stuff to com- 
plete his alibi.” 


278 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


“Nevertheless you’ll do as I request, I think, 
Donovan,” said Mr. Mayhew in a voice which 
made the boys stiffen. “Harve, get a lantern.” 

Fat started for the kitchen door on the run but, 
as he reached the steps, he came to a halt, and his 
head went up. As if to make sure, he sniffed 
again. “Say,” he called, “there’s smoke. There’s 
a fire somewhere. Which way’s the wind?” 

“Coming down hill from the northwest,” an- 
swered Alex. “It’s your imagination, though. 
Get that lantern.” 

“It isn’t,” Harve called back. “There’s another 
fire somewhere. Can’t you smell it?” 

He was so in earnest that Mr. Steve turned. He 
knew Harve would not trifle at such a time. His 
own nostrils caught the pungent smell. “You’re 
right !” he agreed. “Donovan, this thing’s getting 
more serious.” 

“Got so more than two days ago,” growled 
the officer. “You’re right, though; it’s smoke, 
sure.” 

“It’s up wind from here. There are no buildings 


AT CAMP LOWELL 279 

in that direction. It’s our woods ! Stan/’ he cried, 
“jump in the car and sit on that siren. We need 
help. Alex, run to Slade’s. There are men still 
there. Quick! I can see the glow of the flames 
now.” 

“But what started it,” faltered Tug. “I can see 
it, too.” 

“I don’t know who started it,” retorted Mr. Steve, 
“but I’m sure Nelse saw some one beside Dick, and 
that 'some one’ can answer your question.” 

“Oh!” 

“Do you mean that, sir?” 

“But it will burn the camp, unless we can stop 
it. The wind’s right,” declared Nick. 

“I think that’s why it was started,” was the cool 
answer. Mr. Steve turned to Joe. “Take the 
Patrol up there,” he commanded. “Fight it with 
boughs. If it’s beyond control, send word. Don- 
ovan and I’ll start a back fire, if you report that 
it’s necessary. We’ve got to work fast till help 
comes.” 

There was no doubt about the fire now. A dull, 


280 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


red glow appeared like a crown on the crest of the 
hill. They knew exactly where it was. During the 
wartime fuel shortage, Old Boss Mayhew had had 
about an acre cut out of the edge of the woods for 
fuel and, because he was too busy to oversee the 
work, it had been carelessly done. The slash had 
been left where it fell and had dried until it was as 
inflammable as powder. Whoever had started it 
knew his work. 

For three weeks the Wolves had rejoiced because 
there had been no rain to interfere with their fun. 
Now they would have given half their all had it 
rained incessantly. The slash was a furnace. They 
could hear the roar of the flames. There came & 
louder and an uglier sound ; the first of the towering 
pines exploded like a rocket. Flames and sparks 
shot high into the air. “No need to send for help,” 
stated Mr Steve ; “hold your crowd here, Joe. 
You’d be helpless up there.” 

“What shall we do?” 

“Better detail Tug and Alex to get the stuff out 
of the camp. I’m afraid it’s doomed. Pile things 


AT CAMP LOWELL 281 

at the edge of the lake. The rest of you come with 
me. I’m going to back fire.” 

“Where’ll you start it, sir?” 

Stephen Mayhew drew a long breath. “On the 
edge of our own clearing,” he retorted grimly. 
“It’s the only chance to save the building. The 
woods are doomed. It’s hard luck, fellows, but 
we’ll have to make the best of it. Spread out and 
start fires. Don’t let ’em run back.” 

“Gimme two lads to lug water an’ I’ll get on the 
roof,” offered Donovan. “Wet some blankets and 
we’ll care for the sparks.” 

“Good! I’ll be with you as soon as I get the 
back fire going,” agreed Mr. Steve. Already he 
held a flaming bunch of birch bark in his hand. 
The next moment and he had thrust it into the top 
of a young pine. For a second there was only 
smoke; the next and it was a torch, and he was at 
work on another twenty feet away. 

Ten minutes more and they were choking in the 
ever thickening smoke. The heat was intense, but 
the back fire was eating its slow way up the hill. 


282 THE BOY SCOUTS 

On the roof, Jim Donovan and Harve were working 
like mad men. Sparks were falling all about them 
but they had the shingles thoroughly wet now. 
Flaming brands were what they beat out with their 
clubbed and dripping blankets. The crowd from 
Slade’s began to arrive. Two farmers clambered 
up to help on the roof. “We’ll save one building, 
anyway,” declared the first. “Got a fightin’ chance 
here.” 

Tug, as he toted another load out of the camp and 
started toward the shore, saw Chief O’Connor hurry- 
ing toward him. “Mr Mayhew here?” he de- 
manded. 

“He’s everywhere,” announced the little fellow. 
“Think we’ll save our camp, Chief ?” 

“Know in ten minutes.” 

Joe Lowell came racing up. He leaped to the 
top of the steps and made a trumpet of his hands. 
“Everybody form a line between here and the lake,” 
he cried. “Want a bucket brigade. More water 
needed for the roof.” 

The men did not stop to consider that it was a 



ON THE ROOF, JIM DONOVAN AND HARVE WERE 
WORKING LIKE MADMEN ” 



AT CAMP LOWELL 283 

boy who gave orders; they saw the need. “If we’re 
caught on the point, we’ll have to take to the lake,” 
said one with a queer laugh. But he fell into line 
with the rest. 

The heat, now, was as unbearable as the smoke. 
The fire swept down the hill before the wind with a 
triumphant roar. Donovan, dizzy and gasping, 
slipped, clutched, fell crashing from the roof. Even 
before Mr. Steve and Nick had picked him up, a 
farmer had climbed over the veranda roof and taken 
up the work. 

“She’s cornin’!” Harve’s voice rang loud above 
the terrifying noise. They knew what he meant. 
The buckets came faster. Men were about the 
three threatened sides of the camp, fighting sparks, 
blazing branches, little fires in the short grass. 
They did not pause to look up. The sooner it hap- 
pened, the better. The two fires were almost one. 
A dozen felt that their features were nothing but 
searing blisters. But they were bound to cheat the 
fire bug this time. 

It seemed eternity; it was only a moment. 


284 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


Then Harve yelled again. This time there was no 
warning in his voice, only choking triumph. “She’s 
slowin’ up !” he bellowed. “Gimme another 
bucket.” 

The farmers, too, began to shout. The worst 
was over. They knew they had saved Camp 
Lowell. Mr. Bray, who had done the work of 
three, broke from the front rank. “Half of 
you can hold it now,” he called; “rest come 
help me keep it from spreading south into my 
mowin’.” 

“Go on,” urged Mr. Mayhew. “We’re safe 
here.” 

He started to climb to the roof to relieve Harve, 
when Dick caught him by the sleeve. “Need me 
for half an hour, sir?” 

The Scout Master’s face clouded. It was no 
time for a Wolf to do anything but work. But, 
before he could refuse, O’Connor stepped forward. 
“I need you, if he doesn’t,” he stated, his hand 
falling on the slender shoulder. 

The boy stiffened. But, as he saw Mr. Steve 


AT CAMP LOWELL 285 

start to speak, he turned on O’Connor. “And I 
need you,” he declared. “Come!” 

O’Connor hesitated for an instant and, in that 
instant, Dick had slipped past him and was tearing 
along the shore of the lake. The Chief gasped 
with surprise. He thought it was an attempt to 
escape. His hand snapped to his hip but Ste- 
phen Mayhew grabbed his wrist. “Go with 
him,” he commanded; “he knows what he’s do- 
ing.” 

“So do I,” yelled the Chief, and started after 
the little figure which had disappeared into the 
eddying smoke. 

He caught him just at the northern boundary of 
the woods. “What do you think you’re doin’ ?” he 
demanded roughly. “I’ve had enough of your 
funny business. You come with me.” 

The boy flashed around. “Do you want to 
catch this fire bug?” he demanded. 

“Reckon I have,” was the sharp answer. 

“You haven’t. But I can take you to him now. 
Give me a chance. The fellows have. Give me 


286 THE BOY SCOUTS 

my chance to clear myself. You can have the 
reward. All I want is a chance.” 

“Yes, to do a get-away,” sneered the Chief. 

“I don’t. I don’t,” he cried. “I can prove where 
I’ve been to-night. I was at camp when the woods 
fire started. You’ve got handcuffs,” he rushed on 
desperately; “put ’em on me.” He held out his 
wrists pleadingly. “But come. Come!” 

The Chief looked at him keenly. The boy was 
too much in earnest to be utterly neglected. He 
remembered Mr. Mayhew’s faith in him. “I don’t 
see your game,” he acknowledged, after a moment’s 
thought, “but I’ll take a chance. But don’t you 
take one, young feller, or you’ll regret it. I 
mean — ” 

“Don’t waste time talkin’,” broke in Dick excit- 
edly. “Come on !” He raced up the hillside, 
O’Connor close at his heels. To the left the 
woods smouldered with only an occasional burst 
of flame. The heart of the fire, driven by the 
northwest wind, had run diagonally down the hill. 
Dick nodded as if what he saw confirmed his be- 


AT CAMP LOWELL 287 

lief. Once he left the edge and made a short circle 
out into the standing grass. It would have to be 
guarded from the flame soon, but his heart beat 
faster because he had arrived ahead of the men. 

It was not until he had reached the crest of the 
hill that he spoke. ‘‘Ought to be near here,” he 
muttered, as if talking to himself. 

“What had?” 

“Where it started. Look!” he cried. “Look!” 

“It’s only embers. You’ve passed a dozen places 
like it,” growled the Chief. 

“No, we haven’t. There’s been fire all round 
the others; it’s only on three sides of this.” 

“That doesn’t tell me anything.” 

“It tells me where the fire started. I’m going to 
find something which will tell us both a lot more. 
Stand still. I’m going to trail that fire bug.” 

The Chief suddenly saw the light. “Say!” he 
declared, “you’re teaching me something.” 

“The Scouts have taught me something; let’s see 
if it won’t help us both when we need it most.” 

“Can you do it, Dick?” The Chief could cer- 


288 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


tainly change front rapidly when he saw clearly. 

“I can try. The dew’s heavy. It ought to be 
easy.” He took another little circle out into the 
field. 

The Chief, standing by the edge of the fire, 
watched him closely. Dick was bent far over, eyes 
fixed on the ground. Of a sudden he stooped 
still lower, then straightened and came slowly 
back until he stood at the very edge of the glowing 
embers. “I’ve got it,” he declared excitedly. “I 
thought I’d find it. Will you follow me?” 

“Go ahead.” 

“But stay behind me.” 

“Don’t worry, I understand now.” 

“See that foot mark?” 

The Chief stooped. It was plain enough, now 
that his attention was called to it. All around it 
the dew still clung to the damp grass. The fire bug 
had failed to remember that he could leave a trail. 

Dick’s pace quickened. It was easy work, here 
in the open. He hoped it would continue so. He 
heard the murmur of a little brook ahead. Its 


AT CAMP LOWELL 289 

bank might give him further proof. He hurried 
on, the Chief close at his heels. 

On its bank, he paused, stooped, then straight- 
ened slowly, his whole attitude changed. “I’m 
sorry/’ he faltered; “this is his back track. See 
that heel mark?” 

To his utter surprise O’Connor laughed grimly. 
“It’s good enough for me,” he stated; “keep on.” 

“But it’s taking us away from where he’s gone. 
It’s the back track,” he repeated. 

“Which way’s it leading?” 

“North.” 

“Where to?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“I do,” declared the Chief. “It’s leading to the 
Slade barn. That fence is Slade’s boundary. And 
the Slade barn was fired just before your woods 
were. That’s a man’s footprint. Let me see the 
sole of your shoe.” 

“Wha — Wha — !” Dick stammered, as he raised 
his foot. 

“Humph! No nails. Look at that mud. I’ll 


290 THE BOY SCOUTS 

explain later. Can you run faster than you ever 
ran in your life?” 

“I can try.” 

“Then get back to camp and tell Donovan to take 
Mr. Steve’s car and come to me as fast as he can 
drive.” 

“Where’ll he meet you?” 


“At Hanson’s house. Go!” 


CHAPTER XV 


AN UNEXPECTED GIFT 

So much had happened the night before, that 
when the Wolves finally got to sleep, they lay like 
logs in their bunks. There had been so many 
things to explain, so mcuh to discuss, that the camp 
and its surroundings were given little thought. 
Even at breakfast the conversation was still of 
Hanson. It was Mr. Steve, who had spent the 
night with them, who at last brought them back to 
earth. “What has happened, has,” he stated; 
“but what has got to happen is the thing which 
should interest you chaps now. Things outside 
are in a mess. What are you going to do about 
it?” 

Joe, at the other end of the table, put down his 
cup. “I tried not to look around when I went 
down for my swim,” he confessed. “It’s pretty 
291 




292 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


dreary, with everything black and gray behind us.” 

“It burned the rubbish pile, anyway,” observed 
the optimistic Nelse. “We haven’t got to lug that 
away now.” 

“It’s the mess close to the camp I’m thinking 
of,” Mr. Steve stated. “That back fire left only 
a mighty thin fringe between us and desolation, 
and it ate through in several places.” 

“There’s only one thing to do,” declared Stan, 
“and that’s to police things up around here before 
we tackle what’s left of the scenery. That’s going 
to be a big job, and we ought to be a Troop, in- 
stead of a Patrol, to do it right. But we’ve the 
rest of the summer.” 

“You’re not thinking of clearing the whole hill- 
side, are you?” smiled the man. 

“I’m thinking of it,” owned Stan, “but I think 
of all sorts of impossible things, like Fat lugging 
burnt trees around in his mouth. Seriously, 
though, Mr. Steve, I do believe we chaps can pitch 
in and clean up a good deal of the mess before 
fall. We can clean from the camp to the foot of 


AT CAMP LOWELL 293 

the hill, pile up the burnt stuff, burn it, and use the 
salvaged ground as a garden next summer.” 

“I refuse to spend my vacation hunting potato 
bugs,” promptly declared Harve. “If you want to 
have a flower garden, I’m for it; that is,” he added, 
“if you’ll raise only blue sunflowers. I like them 
to wear in my button-hole.” 

“When you get through weeding the com, you 
won’t care about anything you wear except your 
blisters,” promised Nelse. “I think it’s a good 
scheme, Stan. I raised a string bean in my 
war garden; I’ll show you how to grow an- 
other.” 

“This will be a man-sized job,” observed Mr. 
Steve; “you don’t want to forget all the stumps 
you’ll have to get out.” 

“Hec’ll dig those up,” agreed Nelse. 

“You’re all wrong,” stated Fat. “If you knew 
Nature like I do, you’d know how luscious red 
raspberries and cute little blueberries grow on burnt 
ground. All we’ve got to do is sit tight and reap 
our harvest next year.” 


294 THE BOY SCOUTS 

“I’m for clearing the flat ground right away,” 
voted Tug. 

“So’m I.” 

“So are all the rest of us, you nuts!” said Harve. 
“Only I hate the thought of all that work so 
much that I want the kicking all over before we 
begin. It’s going to be a lot of work,” he went 
on soberly; “we’re going to wish we had more 
willing little workers.” 

“Hi, you Wolves !” 

The call brought them all to their feet. There 
was the sound of eager steps on the veranda and 
the next instant Bill Long appeared in the door- 
way, the Foxes crowding against his back. “Good 
morning, everybody,” he said. “We heard about 
your hard luck down in town and thought we’d 
come up and see if we could help. Caught a ride 
most of the way.” 

“Good lads!” 

“Bully for you!” 

Bill grinned, but that faded as he came into the 
room. “There’s something we want to get off 


AT CAMP LOWELL 295 

our chests before we do or say anything else/’ he 
announced. “We heard a lot of wild talk down in 
Gillfield and, while we don’t know what’s happened 
up here, we’ve voted unanimously that we believe 
in old Dick, that we’re for him and with him and 
that he, and the rest of the Wolves, can count on 
the Foxes till the cows come home to roost.” 

“Hear! Hear!” 

“But don’t you know?” 

“Haven’t you heard?” 

But Long only waved his hand as he walked 
straight to Dick Hunt. “You’re all right,” he 
said, “and they’ve given you a raw deal.” He 
gripped his hand and shook it. “You’re not the 
sort who quits under fire,” he stated. 

“You bet he isn’t!” howled Nelse. “Under 
fire’s where that boy shines. Tell ’em the glad 
tidings, Dick.” 

But Dick was in no condition to explain at that 
moment. After all he had been through, it was 
more than he could stand to have this whole crowd 
march in and tell him they trusted him, believed 


296 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


in him, were his friends. His throat felt full and 
he couldn’t, see very well. All he could do was 
hang tight to Bill Long’s hand. 

“I suppose it’s up to me to make a speech,” 
sighed Fat. “I do all the work around here, Bill. 
I’m going to set this to music later on and go 
round the country giving concerts with it. If 
you’ll keep those rough necks of yours from inter- 
rupting with applause, I’ll begin at the end and 
work backwards. Most of you haven’t intelligence 
enough to get it any other way.” 

“Thanks for them kind words!” chuckled Jack 
Swift. “But suppose you overlook yourself for a 
few seconds and tell us about Dick. Evidently 
there’s somethin’ doin’ we need wiseing up on.” 

“Didn’t ever expect to hear you acknowledge it, 
Jack. Drape yourself on the furniture and list. 
Chief O’Connor’s had a brain storm and, the last 
we saw of him, it had developed into a whirl- 
wind and was going round in circles. If you 
haven’t heard what he suspected, we aren’t going 
to repeat it, even to you Foxes. It’s forgotten. 


AT CAMP LOWELL 297 

Anyway,” he went on, “when our own private fire 
was started last night the Chief didn’t seem to be 
sure whether he was going or coming. He was 
really crawling sideways.” 

“Quit braying and get somewhere,” urged Bill. 

“Shut up!” snapped Harve. “I’m sketching in 
the literary background.” 

“Thought this was a concert,” suggested Eb 
Wilder. 

“All right !” groaned Harve. “Take it between 
the eyes, then : Dick and Joe hung all these fires 
on Hanson and proved it to O’Connor. Han- 
son’s the fire bug and the Chief’s hot on his 
trail.” 

“Then Dick’s absolutely cleared?” 

“And then some!” yelled Nelse. “He’s the 
chap who really proved it on Hanson. He picked 
up his trail and followed it till he’d satisfied the 
Chief that there was nothing to it but Hanson. 
He’d suspected him all the time. But there’s a 
lot more.” 

“Never mind it now,” broke in Bill; “I’ve got 


298 THE BOY SCOUTS 

all I need to go on. Let’s give a few cheers for 
Dick.” 

There was so much noise, so many congratula- 
tions flying about, so much pounding of backs and 
general jubilation that none heard the insistant 
honking of the automobile horn from the lane. 
Nor did any hear the firm step on the veranda, nor 
see the upright figure in the doorway until Mr. 
Steve raised his hand for silence. “We’ve another 
visitor, fellows,” he called above the roar. “Let’s 
see what he wants.” 

They wheeled around to find Chief O’Connor 
gazing at them, his face lined with fatigue, his 
clothes gray with dust. “Some one kicked over the 
beehive?” he asked, with a tired smile. “Or is 
this just a reunion in an asylum?” 

“Hello, Chief!” 

“Three cheers for the Chief !” 

They, too, were given with a vim nothing could 
check. The boys were beside themselves. They 
thought it was all because of their joyous relief; 
they did not remember how tired they were and 


AT CAMP LOWELL 299 

what a relief it was to have this nerve racking 
strain of the past days behind them. 

“Thanks, ” returned O’Connor grimly. “I don’t 
feel as if I deserved cheers from you boys. I 
wouldn’t blame you if you hooted every time you 
saw me. I’d take that just as I’m going to take 
my other medicine — and that’s on both feet with my 
hand out.” He came in and walked deliberately to 
Dick Hunt. “The best of us make mistakes,” he 
announced; “mine was more brutal than most. I’d 
no business to let by-gones carry weight. It’s 
a thing too many of us officers do. But, instead 
of my hurting you, Dick, you saved me. Except 
for you, I never would have caught Hanson.” 

“You’ve caught him?” It was a chorus, this 
question. 

The Chief nodded. “In Kendallville this morn- 
ing. He was heading for a train. He confessed 
to setting all four fires. And he’s also confessed to 
having trailed you round the country so’s he could 
start ’em in such a way that we’d suspect you. 
He’s terribly down on you for some reason, Dick. 


300 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


He'd have murdered you last night, when he caught 
you in the woods, only he says he was afraid. 
There’s one thing about Hanson, — he’s insane. 
But every fire bug is.” 

“Good work! Congratulate you.” 

“Thought you’d like to know. That’s why I 
stopped on my way home. He’s safe in jail until 
we can put him where he’ll be watched and cared 
for. I’d like to have you boys spread the news 
around the lake. It will make a lot of people up 
this way sleep easier.” 

“It certainly will,” agreed Stephen Mayhew. 
“A lot of people in this camp will sleep a whole lot 
easier. But we’d like to hear the whole story, 
Chief. How did you trail him to Kendallville ?” 

“Not half as cleverly as Dick did from this fire 
to the one at Slade’s. I only added together what 
he gave me and what I’d found out yesterday. 
Dick did the real work. And that’s another thing 
I’d like to speak about, Mr. Steve. You offered a 
reward of five hundred dollars for the capture of 
the fire bug. I may have done the final act, but 


AT CAMP LOWELL 301 

Hanson’d still be at large if it hadn’t been for 
Dick. I waive all claim to that reward in his favor. 
Dick,” he added, abruptly putting his hand on the 
slender shoulder, “you’ve earned it, you deserve it, 
you’re going to get it.” 

“He is,” stated Mr. Steve above the new roar. 
“You’re a regular man, O’Connor, and you’re 
right.” 

“I have to be sometimes,” laughed the big fel- 
low. “I’m going now. But I’d like one reward 
before I do go. Dick, will you tell them all that 
you have forgiven me?” 

“Of course I will. I don’t blame you at all for 
thinking what you did. I was — ” 

“Never mind what you were,” yelled Nelse. 
“You’re all right and always will be.” 

“If you propose three more nifty cheers for that 
fire-bug-hound,” wailed Harve, “my throat will bust. 
Have a heart! I’d rather pick up cinders, and 
ten minutes ago that was the last thing in the world 
I yearned to do.” 

Tug Wilson, who knew from experience just 


302 THE BOY SCOUTS 

how Dick felt, tried to rush to his rescue. “So 
long as the Foxes have volunteered to help us 
clean up,” he said, “let’s get to work.” 

“Say!” laughed Bill Long, “we can work any 
old time, but we don’t have a show like this every 
day. I want to hear more.” 

“So do the rest of us,” agreed Eb. “Wait a 
minute; I’ve got an idea.” 

“You’ll lose it, if you wait that long,” com- 
forted Nelse. 

“Not this one, old son. It’s a peach. It’s a 
little bit of all right for the Foxes to be in on 
this with you Wolves. But it can be made a heap 
better. Dick’s done something the whole Troop is 
going to be proud of. Let’s get, hold of Mr. 
Nelson and get him to get all the Scouts together. 
Then Mr. Mayhew can present Dick with that five 
hundred before us all.” 

“Fine!” 

“Great idea!” 

“You’ve come through at last, Eb. We’ll do it.” 

Mr. Steve saw terror replace confusion on Dick’s 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


303 


flushed face. “Not in a thousand years!” he 
laughed. “I’m not making any Roman holiday of 
myself and I don’t believe Dick wants to deliver 
any oration. I’ll give him a check quietly and he 
can take it equally quietly and do what he wants 
with it.” 

“Can I?” Dick’s voice was suddenly eager. 

“You sure can, old fellow!” 

“All right. I’ll take it under those conditions, 
and if the Chief approves,” he agreed, his eyes 
sparkling. 

“Don’t worry about me,” said O’Connor. “I’m 
with you from now on.” 

“Fine ! Now I’m going to try to make a speech 
and please don’t any of you try to rattle me,” 
he begged. “I owe everything to you fellows. 
You’ve shown me what it is to be a Scout. I’ve 
tried to be one, and I guess I wouldn’t be here and 
happy now if I hadn’t tried to make myself like 
you.” 

“Bunk !” exploded Harve. 

“Please don’t” begged Dick. “I’m serious; I 


304 


THE BOY SCOUTS 


mean every word. You fellows have stood by me. 
Even Nelse tried to help me when he thought I 
was the fire bug. But I kinder expected it from the 
Wolves. You’ve made me one of you. But when 
Bill came this morning with the Foxes and said they 
all trusted me — well — well — ” He faltered a sec- 
ond and his voice broke. “Well, that was almost 
more than I could stand,” he finished with a rush. 

“You’re a Scout,” stated Bill quietly. “You 
could have been a Fox, if you hadn’t wanted to be a 
Wolf.” 

“It’s because I can’t be both that I want to do 
this,” retorted Dick. “You Foxes have said you 
wanted to have a camp near us here on the lake. 
I know you’ve been earning money to build one. 
We Wolves want you here.” 

“You bet we do!” 

“And we’re going to have you next year,” de- 
clared Dick. “That’s why Mr. Steve’s going to 
make that check payable to the Fox Patrol. Scout- 
ing was what let a Scout, not Dick Hunt, win it; it’s 
going to be used by Scouts.” 


AT CAMP LOWELL 


305 

“Do you mean that, Dick?” Mr. Steve’s eyes 
glowed with pleasure. This was the sort of reward 
that made his work worth while. 

“I do.” 

“Then it’s settled.” 

'“But — but,” Bill Long tried to realize it all. He 
looked from one to another of the astounded, 
jubilant Foxes. “I — I hate to bust your throat, 
Fat,” he gulped, “but three times three for Dick 
Hunt, the real Scout!” 


THE END 

















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Selections from 
The Page Company’s 
Books for Young People 

THE BLUE BONNET SERIES 

Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 
per volume ....... $1.75 

A TEXAS BLUE BONNET 

By Caroline E. Jacobs. 

“ The book’s heroine. Blue Bonnet, has the very finest 
kind of wholesome, honest, lively girlishness.” — Chicago 
Inter-Ocean. 

BLUE BONNET'S RANCH PARTY 

By Caroline E. Jacobs and Edyth Ellerbeck Read. 
“ A healthy, natural atmosphere breathes from every 
chapter.” — Boston Transcript. 

BLUE BONNET IN BOSTON 

By Caroline E. Jacobs and Lela Horn Richards. 

“ It is bound to become popular because of its whole- 
someness and its many human touches.” — Boston Globe. 

BLUE BONNET KEEPS HOUSE 

By Caroline E. Jacobs and Lela Horn Richards. 
“It cannot fail to prove fascinating to girls in their 
teens.” — New York Sun. 

BLUE BONNET — DEBUTANTE 

By Lela Horn Richards. 

An interesting picture of the unfolding of life for 
Blue Bonnet. 

BLUE BONNET OF THE SEVEN STARS 

By Lela Horn Richards. 

“ The author’s intimate detail and charm of narration 
gives the reader an interesting story of the heroine’s war 
activities.” — Pittsburgh Leader. 

A — 1 


THE PAGE COMPANY'S 


THE YOUNG PIONEER SERIES 

By Harrison Adams 

Each 12mo, cloth decorative , illustrated, per 
volume $1.65 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE OHIO; Ob, 

Clearing the Wilderness. 

“ Such books as this are an admirable means of stimu- 
lating among the young Americans of to-day interest in 
the story of their pioneer ancestors and the early days of 
the Republic.” — Boston Globe. 

THE PIONEER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES ; 

Or, On the Trail op the Iroquois. 

“ The recital of the daring deeds of the frontier is not 
only interesting but instructive as well and shows the 
sterling type of character which these days of self-reliance 
and trial produced.” — American Tourist , Chicago . 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSISSIPPI; 

Or, The Homestead nr the Wilderness. 

“The story is told with spirit, and is full of adven- 
ture.” — New York Sun. 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSOURI; 

Or, In the Country of the Sioux. 

“ Vivid in style, vigorous in movement, full of dramatic 
situations, true to historic perspective, this story is a 
capital one for boys.” — Watchman Examiner , New York 
City. 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE YELLOW- 
STONE; Or, Lost in the Land of Wonders. 
“There is plenty of lively adventure and action and 
the story is well told.” — Duluth Herald, Duluth, Minn. 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE COLUMBIA; 

Or, In the Wilderness of the Great Northwest. 

“ The story is full of spirited action and contains much 
valuable historical information.” — Boston Herald. 

A— 2 


BOOKS FOB YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE HADLEY HALL SERIES 

By Louise M. Breitenbach 
Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 
per volume $1.65 

ALMA AT HADLEY HALL 

“ The author is to be congratulated on having written 
such an appealing book for girls.” — Detroit Free Press. 

ALMA’S SOPHOMORE YEAR 

“ It cannot fail to appeal to the lovers of good things 
in girls’ books.” — Boston Herald. 

ALMA’S JUNIOR YEAR 

“The diverse characters in the boarding-school are 
strongly drawn, the incidents are well developed and the 
action is never dull.” — The Boston Herald. 

ALMA’S SENIOR YEAR 

“ A healthy, natural atmosphere breathes from every 
chapter.” — Boston Transcript. 


THE GIRLS OF 
FRIENDLY TERRACE SERIES 

By Harriet Lummis Smith 
Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 
per volume $1.65 

THE GIRLS OF FRIENDLY TERRACE 

“ A book sure to please girl readers, for the author 
seems to understand perfectly the girl character.” — 
Boston Globe. 

PEGGY RAYMOND’S VACATION 

“It is a wholesome, hearty story.” — Utica Observer. 

PEGGY RAYMOND’S SCHOOL DAYS 

The book is delightfully written, and contains lots of 
exciting incidents. 

THE FRIENDLY TERRACE QUARTETTE 

These four lively girls found their opportunities t© 
serve their country. The story of their adventures will 
bring anew to every girl who reads about them the reali- 
sation of what she owes to her country. 

A — 3 


THE PAGE COMPANY’S 


FAMOUS LEADERS SERIES 

By Charles H. L. Johnston 
Each large 12mo, cloth decorative , illustrated, 

; per volume ....... $3.00 

FAMOUS CAVALRY LEADERS 

“ More of such books should be written, books that 
acquaint young readers with historical personages in a 
pleasant, informal way.” — New York Sun. 

FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS 

“ Mr. Johnston has done faithful work in this volume, 
and his relation of battles, sieges and struggles of these 
famous Indians with the whites for the possession of 
America is a worthy addition to United States History.” 
— New York Marine Journal. 

FAMOUS SCOUTS 

“ It is the kind of a book that will have a great fascina- 
tion for boys and young men.” — New London Day. 

FAMOUS PRIVATEERSMEN AND ADVEN- 
TURERS OF THE SEA 

“The tales are more than merely interesting; they are 
entrancing, stirring the blood with thrilling force.” — 
Pittsburgh Post. 

FAMOUS FRONTIERSMEN AND HEROES OF 
THE BORDER 

“ The accounts are not only authentic, but distinctly 
readable, making a book of wide appeal to all who love 
the history of actual adventure.” — Cleveland Leader. 

FAMOUS DISCOVERERS AND EXPLORERS 
OF AMERICA 

“ The book is an epitome of some of the wildest and 
bravest adventures of which the world has known.” — 
Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

FAMOUS GENERALS OF THE GREAT WAR 

Who Led the United States and Her Allies to a Glo- 
rious Victory. 

“ The pages of this book have the charm of romance 
without its unreality. The book illuminates, with life- 
like portraits, the history of the World War.” — Roches- 
ter Post Express. 

A — 4 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


HILDEGARDE- MARGARET SERIES 

By Laura E. Richards 
Eleven Volumes 

The Hildegarde-Margaret Series, beginning with 
“ Queen Hildegarde ” and ending with “ The Merry- 
weathers,” make one of the best and most popular series 
of books for girls ever written. 

Each large 12mo, cloth decorative , illustrated, 

; per volume . . . . . . . $1.75 
The eleven volumes boxed as a set . • $19.25 

LIST OF TITLES 

QUEEN HILDEGARDE 

HILDEGARDE ’S HOLIDAY 

HILDEGARDE’S HOME 

HILDE GARDE’S NEIGHBORS 

HILDEGARDE’S HARVEST 

THREE MARGARETS 

MARGARET MONTFORT 

PEGGY 

RITA 

FERNLEY HOUSE 

THE MERRYWEATHERS 
A — 5 


THE PAGE COMPANY'S 


THE CAPTAIN JANUARY SERIES 

By Laura E. Richards 

Each one volume, 12mo, cloth decorative, illus- 
trated, 'per volume 90 cents 

CAPTAIN JANUARY 

A charming idyl of New England coast life, whose 
success has been very remarkable. 

SAME. Illustrated Holiday Edition . . $1.35 

MELODY: The Stort of a Child. 

MARIE 

A companion to “ Melody ” and “ Captain J anuary.” 

ROSIN THE BEAU 

A sequel to “Melody” and “Marie.” 

SNOW-WHITE; Ok, The House in the Wood. 

JIM OF HELLAS ; Or, In Durance Vile, and a 
companion story, Bethesda Pool. 

NARCISSA 

And a companion story, In Verona, being two delight- 
ful short stories of New England life. 

u SOME SAY ” 

And a companion story. Neighbors in Cyrus. 

NAUTILUS 

“ ‘ Nautilus ’ is by far the best product of the author’s 
powers, and is certain to achieve the wide success it so 
richly merits.” 

ISLA HERON 

This interesting story is written in the author’s usual 
charming manner. 


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